


One Thousand Ships

by lilbluednacer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault, Curses, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Mommy Issues, Protective Dean, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, references to mythology, snuggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:03:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 48,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving halfway across the country with some traumatized girl under a curse is so not how Dean imagined spending his summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hold tight, it's just beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is your friendly reminder to read the tags now; this story is pretty long and filled with all kinds of dark stuff. That being said *bites lip nervously* I hope you enjoy it! I'm fairly new to this fandom so comments/advice/constructive criticism is encouraged ;) All chapter titles are lyrics by The Decemberists.

Here's the thing - Dean isn't really sure that he believes in fate. He's well aware that everyone in the freaking universe is operating under the delusion that he is somehow special, a Winchester, handpicked for things prophesied.

It's something he has accepted he'll never understand-why him? There's nothing particularly special about him. He's not Sam, wasn't chosen. Not like that.

Sure, for a hunter he has a good track record - hell, he's _alive_ \- but that's more about luck and circumstance than raw skill. He's a good hunter, an elite really, or he likes to privately think of himself as one, but he's not the best there ever was, is afraid of becoming a man like that - ruthless, viscous, empty inside.

He feels too much to excel in that sense. The job will take everything if you let it.

So he's just him. His father's perfect soldier on the surface and deep under it all, the leather and the smirk and the pretty face she gave him, he's his mother's baby boy.

Dean thinks that makes him pretty typical. He likes to get drunk and he likes to screw pretty girls, gambles and cusses and lies to everyone he meets.

Not exactly savior-of-the-Galaxy material there.

So when Cas shows up in the middle of the night in his motel room and asks him to babysit a girl who apparently is so special to the fate of the world that heaven authorized her kidnapping, he's both seriously surprised, and not phased at all.

The universe comes calling and Dean falls for it every time.

/

After it's over, after she is soaked with blood and bodies have fallen all around her, he comes for her.

The man who is not a man, because no human could have eyes like that, so blue that they burn like the base of a flame. Dressed like an old noir film star, loose trench coat draped around his body. He studies her, blood-slick skin, and his hand stretches out, beckoning.

"By the decree of the company of heaven, I declare thee liberated of thy chains." Cool fingers close around her wrist, and then there's nothing but darkness.

When the space around her resolves, swirling muted browns and greens, she's standing in a small room, a single bed pushed against one wall, little nightstand with a revolver resting on it.

And the man-oh, the _man_ , standing in the center of the room in only a pair of sweatpants, green eyes thick with sleep-his gaze shifts from the man who is not a man, to her, and glazes over in that familiar haze of lust.

She whimpers, fingers curled into the thin fabric of the trench coat. She's been rented out before, but not like this, there is no precedent for this.

_How did she even get here?_

And then there is the separate matter of her state of dress, her bare feet, the stained satin slip.

Mother would never allow this, to be seen by a customer drenched in the blood of half a dozen men, her hair matted with sweat and eyes wide with panic.

The shirtless man shuffles forward, slack-jawed with desire, and the man who is not a man says sharply, _Dean_ , and suddenly there's a knife in his hand, he's scratching something into the other man's chest, some kind of symbol.

The man called Dean blinks, and to her shock the haze of lust dissolves, his features settling into a look of absolute horror. "Jesus Christ Cas, you couldn't heal her first?"

"I thought she would appear more sympathetic to you like this."

He looks sickened. "That's seriously fucked up."

The man - _Cas?_ \- turns to her and says, sternly but not unkindly, "Go in the other room."

The other room is not really a room, just a kitchenette. She sink into a chair, cheap ugly orange vinyl. Shaking, blood stained hands folded tightly in her lap so she don't smear it anywhere, so she won't be punished.

Through the cracked open door she hears words traded back and forth, _succubus? No, no. Cursed...forced...dangerous..._

She shivers, sick with anticipation, and waits.

/

"What the fucking fuck?" Dean splutters at Cas, when the girl - _Jesus_ , what the hell had _that_ been, anyway? - shuffles out of the room.

"She is in need of your protection," Cas intones.

"Yeah, no shit Cas. The hell was that?"

The angel looks grave. "She has been cursed."

He runs a tired hand through his hair. "You sure she ain't a succubus? Shit man, I felt like my dick was about to-never mind." He cuts himself off hastily at the expression on Castiel's face.

"She has been cursed to incite lust in men wherever she goes," Cas explains flatly. "They find her irresistible. What I drew on your chest protects you from feeling the effects."

Dean swallows back a wave of nausea, thinking of how he felt that first split second he saw her, before Cas dug his knife into his skin. Nothing like arousal or plain desire. This was deep, bone deep, like he _needed_ her, like he'd die if he didn't push himself inside her.

"So she's a fucking rape magnet," he concludes.

"It's more complicated than that."

Dean gapes. "How?"

"She is a danger to humanity. It is imperative that she remains under your protection until you can find a way to lift the curse."

"A danger to humanity?" Dean raises his eyebrow. "Are you being hyperbolic? Cus it's kinda hard to tell with you sometimes man."

Castiel lets out a small world weary sigh, like he doesn't have the patience for this. "There is an organization that specializes in providing services to men. High powered men."

"Services?"

"Of the carnal sort."

"And she's involved?" _Her_ , that slip of a thing, who could barely look him in the eye before cowering behind Cas?

"She was a slave," Castiel corrects. "Used because of her particular allure. Imagine, if you will. High powered men, your politicians, officials, world leaders, all clients of this particular organization. What you felt, for three seconds-imagine those men, brought to their knees by one girl. What they would do to themselves, to each other, to have her. Own her."

"Cas, that's human trafficking." Bewildered, 'cus when did angels start caring about shit like this? Men's truest sick desires.

"One girl, Dean. Placed by the right people in the right circumstances-she has the potential to bring humanity as you know it to its knees."

He's groggy with whiskey and sleep, hopes vainly this is just some weird angel dream. "Since when does heaven give a shit? One girl, Cas, really?"

"You are her only hope," Cas says, and then he's gone.

Dean looks down at his chest but the bloody symbol has been erased, healed, and in its place redrawn in ink. "Guess that makes me Obi Wan."

If he's being honest with himself, this might be the worst idea ever-he's supposed to leave in the morning to meet Sam in Iowa, and driving halfway across the county with some traumatized girl under a curse is so not how he imagined spending his summer.

But.

Castiel asked, and Dean heels like a bitch every damn time, because he's a soldier and sometimes he thinks it's all that he's made for, all the parts of him that are _Dad_ and _hurt_ and _obey_.

Now he has to take care of a girl with the apparent potential to take down fucking _humanity_ , for an _indefinite_ amount of time, and like the good soldier his daddy molded him into, doesn't question anything. At least it's uncomplicated, the way he's been made, never had a chance.

_Just say yes_.

The girl is tiny, barely clears five feet. He'll be damned if she's older than sixteen. Pretty, delicate features, long blond hair to her waist. She's dressed in only a pale blue slip that's fucking _drenched_ in blood. It's everywhere, staining her arms and chest, streaked across her face where one hell of a bruise is forming across her right cheekbone.

"So," he says awkwardly, watching her eyes widen when he comes into the little makeshift kitchen. "Lust curse, huh?"

Her face is very white under all the blood and she makes a kitten-like whimper in the back of her throat.

"Hey, it's okay." He points to his chest, shows her where the symbol has been etched in ink. "I can't feel it as long as I've got this on."

She blinks at him, arms folded tightly in her lap, like she's trying to take up as little space as possible. He wishes like hell Sammy was here and not down in Louisiana, nerding out over some library, books of lore he swore up and down were worth separating for.

"You're not hurt, are you?" She doesn't seem like it, but all that blood had to come from somewhere. Someone.

She shakes her head, lips pressed tightly together.

"So. Guess you wanna shower?"

She nods faintly, follows him to the door of the bathroom. "Clean towel's in there," he says. "Take your time."

He tosses back some whisky and collapses on the edge of the bed, listens to water run for a long time before she finally comes out. She moves toward him with purpose and then the towel drops and she stands in front of him, naked, eyes blank like a corpse.

He can't help it, he stares, feeling something sick in his stomach as he takes in the sharp lines of her collarbone. She's borderline emaciated, hunched shoulders, soft round tits that would fit in the palm of his hand. Bruises bloom across her concave stomach, all the way down to where she's shaved bare.

And then she silently drops to her knees and reaches out her thin fingers to the waistband of his sweatpants.

"The fuck are you doing?" He stumbles back away from her and watches her fall back on her haunches, making a whine like a kicked dog.

"Jesus," he breathes, nausea rising in him like a wave. "What did you do that for?"

She curls her knees to her chest, her arms locking around bruised shins. "You don't want it?" Her voice is frail and hoarse.

He exhales, shakes his head. "Christ, kid," he mutters. "No. Shit."

She processes that, eyelids fluttering. "Do you want to hurt me instead?" Says it like an offer.

He has to turn away then, digs through his duffle until he comes up with a relatively clean shirt. "Put this on."

She crawl on her knees to him, takes the shirt out of his hand with trembling fingers. Slips it over her head and it hangs like a dress on her small frame, her bare feet vulnerable looking against the nasty avocado colored carpet.

"Get in the bed," he orders, because it's three am and his head is spinning, and there's a girl, a fucking _kid_ who's just standing there, expectant.

Like she'd patiently stand there all night waiting for him to hurt her, fuck her, and she wouldn't even put up a fight.

She tiptoes to the bed, crawls back until she's pressed in the corner between the headboard and the wall. Stares at him with wide blue eyes. Waiting.

He edges toward the foot of the bed, noting how her hands curl into fists. "You got a name?"

She nods, head tilting down. Shy, afraid. "Lux."

He has to swallow a snort. _Lux_ , it's a stripper name, and then he remembers what Cas said, what this girl does, was made to do, and he goes cold all over. "That your real name?"

She shivers visibly and shakes her head.

Oh _Christ_. "Is it okay if I call you that?"

She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and nods.

He takes a pillow from the bed, drops it onto the floor. "You can have the bed tonight."

She just looks at him, uncomprehending, tremors wracking her whole body, and then it really clicks.

She's terrified of him.

"Hey," he says, forcing his voice to be soft even though he's practically vibrating with fury.

He's seen so much shit he's numb to it half the time but this, some poor girl, who's clearly used to being treated like an animal, _violated_ , this crosses some kind of internal line that makes him want to hurl. "I won't hurt you."

She doesn't believe him, he can tell, but she nods anyway and curls over on her side in defeat.

/

Lux watches him wake soon after the sun comes up with a full body jerk, eyes flying open. Shoots a glance at her and back to his chest before rolling off the floor and grunts, _shower_. Disappears into the bathroom.

She stays wedged against the wall, where she hasn't moved since he fell asleep. Waiting for the symbol to fail, or wear off. She has no context for this, a man _not_ reacting to her, eyes bouncing off her like she's a piece of furniture.

She presses herself against the wall when he comes out of the bathroom with damp hair, dressed in only a pair of faded jeans, but the symbol has been redrawn in fresh marker.

He gives her a tentative glance and looks back down at the symbol, tosses her a rueful smile. "Thought I did it right."

She watches as he packs up his stuff, yanks a grey crew neck over his head. A knife gets tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

"C'mon." He shoulders a duffle bag, one hand jammed in his pocket. "We gotta go."

Lux hops off the bed, because obedience is something she knows how to do. Knows it's better than the alternative. "Where are we going?"

"Breakfast. Then we'll get you some real clothes."

There's a teenage boy working behind the desk. She sticks close to Dean, watches the boy's hands shake as he pushes a pen across the wood, eyes full of lust. Dean glares at him, closes his hand around her wrist and pulls Lux behind him.

Outside is burning hot sun, heat shimmering above the asphalt of the parking lot. She hisses, the soles of her feet stinging.

"Aw hell," he mutters, and digs around in his duffle until he comes up with a pair of socks. "These'll have to do 'til we can get you shoes."

He holds out his hand to her, palm up, and she tentatively braces herself against him to pull the socks, thick knitted cotton, up to her shins.

She squints in the harsh sunlight. "Where are we?"

He scowls, sweat beading at his hairline. "Tucson."

She sways on the pavement, head spinning. "We're in Arizona?"

He gives her a funny look. "Where were you before Cas zapped you here?"

She inhales, breathes in sunlight and dry desert air. She can't remember the last time she was allowed to go outside. "D.C."

"Fuck," he breathes, and runs a hand through sandy brown hair. It's strange, being able to look at a man, actually study his face, when he's not on top of her.

He leads her to a car, some sleek black thing that shines in the early morning heat. Her hand clenches around the handle of the passenger side door, skin clammy. Remembers the last time she was in a car and almost throws up all over her socked feet but there's nothing in her stomach, hasn't been for two days.

"Hey," he says, startling her. "You getting in or you just gonna stand there?"

She opens the door quickly and scoots inside, curling up against the door. He turns the engine over and she shuts her eyes against the wave of memories fighting to rise to the surface.

/

There are plenty of places along the strip of highway that have a _No Shoes No Shirt No Service_ sign, but lucky for Lux Dean doesn't frequent places like that.

She sits across from him in a red cracked vinyl booth, eyes wide like a deer, flicking from the three truckers at the counter to the man at the next table with his pretty wife and two young girls.

Their waitress, flimsy plastic name tag reading _Sharon_ , has wrinkles around her eyes, the pale drawn face of a shift worker. He gives her a pretty smile, just because, orders blueberry pancakes, bacon, and eggs.

She turns to Lux, gives her a maternal look. "What can I getcha hon?"

To which Lux responds by staring at him with a look of total panic on her face, her knuckles white where she's clutching the edges of the menu.

Dean lightly touches the waitress on the wrist. "Can we have another minute, please?"

She looks suspiciously at the bruise on Lux's cheek but gives him a curt nod and walks away. Lux is frozen, blue eyes like icy crystals.

"Hey." He wraps his hand around his mug of coffee. "What's up? You gotta be starving."

She lets out a high breathy exhale. "I didn't know if I was allowed to eat."

He stares at her, bony shoulders poking through the thin cotton of his tee shirt. "Why wouldn't you be allowed to eat?"

She flinches.

"Hey, he says roughly. "I don't know what it was like when you were with...the people you were with. But the way I see it you're gonna drop if you don't eat."

A fine boned finger trails along her collarbone, like she's checking to make sure it's still there. "You're supposed to choose for me," she whispers.

"Uh, okay." Swallows a gulp of too-hot coffee and coughs, scans the menu. "What do you like? Pancakes, waffles?"

She blinks rapidly. "I'm not allowed to eat any of that."

He frowns. "Why not?"

She pales, shrinks back in the booth. "Mother says so."

He raises an eyebrow. " _Mother_?"

"She's in charge of us."

"Us?"

Lux nods, tracing a mindless pattern across her sternum. "The other girls."

Must be a woman in the organization, someone to keep the girls in line. "Look, Lux, you're not there anymore. You don't have to follow her rules now."

If anything that makes her look more afraid. "What about when you send me back?"

"Hey." He reaches out his hand toward her but she just stares at it like it's some foreign object. "You're never going back there. Okay?"

She contemplates this. "So I'm yours now?"

He chokes on his coffee. "Uh, no. You're a person. You can't own a person. If you wanted to get up and leave, walk away from me, I wouldn't stop you."

She looks away from him, scanning the dinner. The truckers over at the counter are all blatantly staring at her, and the man at the next table is watching her so intensely that his fork keeps missing his mouth.

She leans back in the booth and gives him a tired look. "Without you I wouldn't make it to the door."

He orders her an egg white garden omelette with a side of strawberries. She takes exactly five bites of the omelette and pushes her plate away, mumbles _thank you_ through a curtain of hair.

He pays the bill and they leave, the heat from a dozen pairs of eyes burning into the back of his neck.

/

The fluorescent lighting makes her eyes hurt, Dean's hand firm on her elbow as he navigates her through the store. She stares at all the clothing, overwhelmed by color and fabric, not the faintest idea where to begin.

"You gonna pick something out or just stare at everything?" he asks impatiently, an empty plastic shopping basket dangling from his elbow.

She shrugs helplessly and he sighs. "Lemme guess, _Mother_ picked out all your clothes."

Lux nods, brushing her fingers against a coral chiffon skirt. "She wanted us to look pretty for the clients."

His mouth twists like she's said something offensive. "I don't care about that, just pick something so we can get outa here."

She inhales against the pressure in her chest. "I don't know what to pick."

"Something practical," he advises. "You're gonna be spending a lot of time in Baby, might as well be comfortable."

"Baby?"

"My car," he says shortly. He sifts through a rack of denim shorts, flipping the tags up. "What size are you?"

"I don't know," she whispers.

His eyes scan her body, not in desire but critically, like he's evaluating her. "Whatever the smallest size is then, I guess. Shit kid, we're gonna have to feed you milkshakes or something. Get some meat on your bones."

Her stomach turns to ice, she turns away from him and blindly grabs a few simple tee shirts and drops them into the basket. He turns back to the shorts mumbling, _six, four, two, zero,_ fuck, _double zero_ , and yanks two pairs off their hangers, stuffs them on top of the shirts.

Picking out underwear and bras in front of Dean should feel humiliating, she thinks, but he seems immune to embarrassment, waiting patiently while she finds the right sizes.

"Shoes," he reminds her when she's done, steers her into another aisle.

She eyes a pair of sandals, beautiful creamy patent leather with silver buckles. She looks at him hopefully but he's shaking his head, muttering something that distinctly sounds like, _girls_.

"You'll thank me later," he says, pulling her towards the gym shoes. "Those things'll shred your feet."

She makes a face, she wants those pretty shoes more than she's wanted anything almost, and he sighs. They compromise on a pair of flats, light purple canvas slip-ons.

She follows him towards the checkout register and stops in front of a rack of sunglasses. Reaches out and touches a pair of red plastic ones, the frame around the lenses molded into hearts.

"You like those?" he asks.

She nods, tracing them lovingly. She's never owned anything like that, an accessory, something grown up, even if the heart shape is a little childish. Mother only dressed them nicely when they saw clients, otherwise they dressed in scraps, owned nothing of their own.

"Okay," he says, and to her shock plucks them off the rack and tosses them into the cart.

She changes in a gas station bathroom, Dean right outside the door like a bodyguard. She stares at herself in the mirror after she gets her clothes on-pale yellow tee shirt almost the same color as her hair, legs like sticks poking out of her cutoffs.

She pulls the hem of her shirt up, runs her hands over her stomach. Traces the bruises, where the dying man had clutched at her, begging to fuck her while the life was draining out of him.

She shudders.

Counts her ribs, relief washing over her. All still there, sharp through her skin. Mother won't be mad, Mother won't punish her-

She freezes, remembering what Dean said-that she was never going back. Wonders if he's telling the truth.

The panic hits her hard and fast, she has to lean over the sink, gripping the edges. If she's never going back, if she's really been liberated-

Except that she's not. She'll never be free, not while she's under the curse.

Without Dean she's a dead girl.

When she comes out of the bathroom he gives her an appraising sort of look, and then his hand is on her shoulder, warm and heavy. Across the parking lot three teenage boys dressed in football jerseys get out of a Jeep.

The hand on her shoulder tightens. "Come on," he says, voice low in her ear. "Let's get outta here."

/

Lux falls asleep in the passenger seat while they're cruising down Highway 10 into New Mexico, the sun beating down on them.

She looks so little, scrawny legs curled under herself. Like a small child. He realizes he doesn't know how old she is, doesn't know literally anything about her other than that she's cursed, that she's clearly used to being treated like a thing.

Wonders how long the organization had her, at how ingrained obedience is in her. And for one fucked up second thinks of what it would be like to screw her, how tight she'd be, what that pretty face looks like when she's coming.

Knows she'd do anything he'd ask. _Anything_.

Immediately feels a rush of self-hatred. Pervert, he's a fucking pervert. She's just a kid.

Some kid who's been used as a goddamn sex toy, been taken advantage of by cruel men worse then some of the monsters he's slaughtered.

Dean believes in surviving, gritting your teeth and pushing through it, but even he's failing to see how someone could ever recover from that.

He groans quietly to himself. How is he supposed to take care of a girl who can't even feed herself, who seems incapable of making basic decisions?

She sighs and shifts in her sleep, the sunglasses he bought her clutched to her chest. Reminds him of Sam, that damn mini toy soldier he used to carry everywhere.

Dean gets it. When you have nothing cheap plastic feels as valuable as gold.

He pulls over when his baby needs gas, makes sure to lock Lux inside the car. Lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face while the tank fills.

It's eighty-eight degrees and climbing and he's stuck with some girl who might actually be more psychologically fucked up than him, which is really saying something.

Fucking Cas. Fucking angels and their meddling. Fucking Sam, leaving him over some magic books.

Sam would know what to do, how to talk to her, how to get her to trust him. He's always been gifted like that, always knows exactly how to get someone to open up to him, how make them feel emotionally connected.

Unlike Dean, who really communicates best when he's talking with his body. Innately knows how to throw punches for maximum effect, how to caress a girl until she's a melting puddle of need. How to stroke Sammy's hair when he's having a bad day, when he's lost inside his head and all Dean can do is touch him, remind him that he's not alone.

He wondered if he tried touching Lux like that, like something small and soft and tender, if it would still scare her.

_Goddamnit_ , he whispers to himself. Hasn't even been twelve hours and he's starting to lose it.

Sam doesn't even answer his phone, Dean has to leave a vague cryptic message instructing him to stay where he is, Dean'll come to him and while he's at it dig up everything he can find on how to break curses.

When he gets back in the car Lux jerks awake at the sound of his door shutting, flashing him a look of wide-eyed terror before blinking and rubbing her eyes with her fists.

"Where are we?" she mumbles, squinting against the sun.

"New Mexico."

She unwinds her legs and slides her sunglasses over her face. "Where are we going?"

"New Orleans."

"Why?"

"My brother's there. And it's crawling with witches."

Her whole body goes stiff. "Why-why do you want a witch?" Her voice is shaking.

"Don't you want to get that curse lifted?"

She starts to laugh, this painful noise that sounds like she's only laughing so she doesn't cry.

"Lux?"

She shakes her head, pale hair flying around her face. "You're crazy."

"Why's that?"

"I've been like this since I was twelve," she whispers, "There is no lifting the curse."

Dean watches her, resolutely staring straight ahead, the face of a girl who's already accepted defeat.

Hears the break in her voice at her confession and feels a tiny painful crack deep inside his heart.

"Doesn't mean I can't try," he says, because fuck witches and men alike, and pulls the car back onto the highway, gripping the wheel so his hands don't shake.

_Twelve?_


	2. there are angels in your angles

Lux's heart starts pounding as soon as they walk into the restaurant off the side of the highway. She knows what comes next. Dean's going to make her eat, and then he won't want her anymore.

It's what Mother always told the girls. Even Lux, who was cursed to be desirable to all men, wasn't immune. There were rules, for girls like them. Breaking them would only make men angry.

She feels achy and lightheaded, groggy from sleep and nervous at the way Dean keeps sneaking glances at her when he thinks she isn't looking. Like he's trying to figure her out. Like maybe he even cares about her.

She pinches the inside of her elbow, hard.

The place is jam packed, thick with smoke and the smell of cheap beer. She shrinks into Dean instinctively as they follow the hostess to a table, aware of the glances from men as she passes them.

Dean lets out a sharp exhale and splays one hand flat on her back between her shoulder blades. "You're alright. Just keep walking."

When they get to their booth he slides in next to her instead of across, looking at the other patrons with challenging eyes. His expression doesn't soften until their waitress comes, a brunette with rosy cheeks and lush thick thighs in tight black shorts. Lux watches him give her a dazed smile, his eyes lingering on her cleavage as he orders.

Lux pushes her fingers into the groove between her second and third rib, hating that she feels jealous, and confused. She shouldn't care that he's looking at another girl. Why should she care?

Is she that petty, so used to being the object of every man's desire that she needs the one man who isn't affected by the curse to want her too?

When the waitress comes backs she puts down two plates loaded with burgers and fries, and Lux is suddenly dizzy with hunger. Dean beams at the waitress, gives her a lazy _thanks sweetheart_ , brushes his fingers over the back of her hand as she walks away.

Lux stares at her burger. Tries to look at it as just food, not something that she'll get punished over. Takes the bun off the top, carefully picks off the slices of lettuce and tomato.

"Whoa, what're you doing?" He reaches over her lap to reconstruct the burger.

"Stop it!" Her voice comes out borderline hysterical.

He clamps one hand over her wrist and she jumps, eyes filling with tears.

"Damn it," he growls, releasing her. She stares down at her plate, waits for him to yell at her or just plain get up and leave her there.

"Lux-hey, kid, can you look at me please?"

She manages to bring her eyes up to meet him. To her surprise he doesn't look angry, just tired and a little frustrated. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I'm not mad." His voice is low and surprising gentle. "But you need to eat. Cas left you in my protection and I'm not letting you starve to death. Okay?"

She feels trapped, between before, her obedience, strict adherence to the rules, the only thing keeping her from getting tossed on the streets. But now she's with him, and everything is different, and she can't keep up. Feels paralyzed under the gaze of this man who just said that he's _protecting_ her.

"I told you," she says feebly. "It's breaking the rules."

"Fuck that," he says bluntly. "You're with me now, and that's the way things are going to be for the foreseeable future, so you better get used to it. You're the kid and I'm the adult, so I get to make the rules, and the rules are you eat what I tell you."

"I'm not a kid," she mumbles, feeling an overwhelming rush of something warm at his words.

_You're with me now._

He snorts. "Bullshit."

"I'm eighteen."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "No way."

"Your friend didn't tell you that?"

Something flickers over his face. "Well I'm older than you, which means I still get to make the rules."

"But-"

"This isn't a negotiation," he snaps. "Now be quiet and eat something before you drop dead from malnutrition."

"Half?" she asks tentatively.

"And the fries."

Her stomach clenches. "I don't think I can do that."

"Just do your best," he instructs, and takes a huge bite of his burger, turns to give her a giant smile with his mouth half open.

Despite her anxiety she giggles. "Ew."

He swallows and looks at her pointedly. "Your turn."

She squares her shoulders, sinks her trembling fingers into the bun. Brings it up to her mouth and takes a bite. Chews. Swallows. Exhales shakily.

"See, that wasn't so bad." He gives her an encouraging smile and it feels like a reward, like she'd do anything to have him look at her like that again.

With eyes full of kindness.

She takes another bite.

/

Dean gets them a cheap motel room with two double beds for the night, and after sitting silently on one of them for almost twenty minutes Lux blinks up at him and shyly asks if there's anywhere they can go buy her a hairbrush.

He drives around for ten minutes before he finds a CVS open until eleven pm. She reaches for his hand in the parking lot, her palm cool and soft against his skin. He feels like a babysitter, lacing their fingers together the way he used to walk with Sam when he was very small.

Or maybe this is what it feels like to be a teenager, just some guy with a pretty girl holding your hand because she trusts you to keep her safe. He wouldn't know. Puppy love was always Sammy's game, Dean preferred dry humping behind the bleachers and blow jobs in the janitor's closet.

The store seems entirely deserted aside from the ninety year old looking granny behind the cash register. Lux's eyes widen at all the shiny stuff, models staring at them with glazed eyes from endless different ads. He sighs to himself, realizes she doesn't have anything except the clothes he bought her this morning. Accepts that they'll probably be here for the next twenty minutes.

"Might as well get everything you need," he tells her in defeat.

She nods, obviously transfixed, and after careful consideration she picks out a few packages and tosses them into a plastic basket. When she gets to the shampoo aisle she stops and looks up with big eyes, hypnotized by all her options.

He watches her lift one hand up and trace the outline of a purple bottle with little flowers printed on it. Her skin looks a little pink and he realizes they drove all day with the sun shining through the windows. This morning she was about ten shades of pale and now her skin is, _shit_ , definitely pink.

"Hey, can I see your arm for a second?"

She turns to him and mutely lifts out her arm, a suspicious expression on her face. He lightly presses his fingertips to her forearm, watches the imprints remain white for a few seconds before fading away.

"We need to get you sunscreen. Think it's a few aisles back."

She nods vaguely. "Okay, I'll meet you over there in a minute."

Dean looks around but he doesn't see anyone in the store but them. "You sure?"

She shrugs. "No one's here." Gives him the tiniest fraction of a smile. "I think I'll be okay for two minutes."

He's got a tube of sunscreen in his hand when he hears her scream, _oh you stupid motherfucker_ , runs like his ass is on fire back to the shampoo aisle-

Lux is lying flat on her back on the cheap tiled floor being humped by a stock clerk, her arms and legs uselessly fighting against the weight of his body over her.

There's a buzzing in Dean's ears, he lunges forward and picks up the guy by the back of his neck, throws him into the wall. He's just a teenager, awkward looking and pimply, and he's sobbing, _please, please_ , a wet stain seeping through the crotch of his regulation khakis.

Christ, Dean was not ready for this shit. Hasn't even been twenty-four hours since Cas literally dropped her in the middle of his motel room and she's already been _assaulted_ , what the _fuck_.

He's fucking useless, is what he is, how could he leave her, how could he let this happen? She's gone limp, spread eagle on the floor, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling.

"Lux, Lux, hey, look at me." He cradles her face in his hands but she doesn't react to him, like she's not even in her body. "Come on, wake up."

Nothing. She doesn't even blink. He has one crazy second where he's terrified that she's actually dead and has to put two fingers against her throat to make sure she's not.

"Lux, damnit, come on. Come back to me, sweetheart, we gotta go."

Nothing. Fucking hell.

He throws her over his shoulder and runs out of the store, doesn't even realize until he's parked back at the motel that he took the basket full of her stuff without paying for it. He doesn't feel too stressed about it. Compared to what he usually does, petty theft feels like a milk run.

Lux is silent in her seat, hiding behind her curtain of hair. He gets out of the car, walks around to the other side and opens the passenger door. She flinches, with her whole body.

"Hey." He keeps his voice low and soft, squats down so he's level with her. "Time to get out of the car. Can you do that for me?"

The tiniest nod. She reaches up, hand _trembling_ , and tucks back a few blond waves behind her ear so he can see her face. Not crying but withdrawn, fragile.

Like a scared little girl with a spine of steel.

"I'm fine," she whispers. "It's not like-it's not like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

Like _that's_ supposed to make it better. Dean wants to break something, he wants to drive back to the store and snap that fucking kid's neck.

She turns in her seat, stiff, holding her limbs protectively close to her body, and it's just instinctual - he leans forward, arms held out to her.

"It's okay." Calm, like he's coaxing a pet. "Come on, you're alright."

She blinks slowly, eyes glazed over, and reaches out, lets him hold her hands. He helps her out of the car and she reaches for him as soon as he lets go, clutching a fistful of his shirt.

"Hey, you're okay." He reaches down and unfurls her fingers one by one, until her hand opens like a flower.

She stares at him, ethereal blue eyes glowing in the light from the streetlamp by the entrance of the motel, so blue he wonders if a bit of Castiel didn't rub off on her. Hand held open at him like she's asking a question.

He reaches down and grips it, feels her shiver. "I won't let that happen again."

She blinks rapidly. "You can't promise me that."

"Hey." Tightens his grip on her hand. "It's not happening again. End of story."

She sways just a bit, leaning into his weight. "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

She looks up at him and for the first time she looks her age. "You know what."

"You know my friend? The one that saved you?"

The faintest trace of a smile appears on her face. "Yeah."

"He asked me to take care of you. He's the kind of friend you don't say no to, you know what I'm saying?"

She tilts her head. "Why did he ask _you_?"

Dean's shoulder burns for a split-second, like he can feel Castiel's hand on him. "He trusts me, I guess."

She mulls this over, shivering in the cool night air. "Can we go in now?"

He turns the tv on inside the room, thinking of trying to distract her with a movie, and before he can even pull up the guide she's staring at the screen in awe.

"I can watch tv?" Gives him this look of wide-eyed wonder.

"Yeah, that's what it's there for."

There's some cartoon playing, one of those Pixar movies. She stumbles back to her bed, transfixed. "We weren't allowed to watch tv."

He shrugs. "Knock yourself out."

Dean finds a bottle of whiskey and drinks straight from the bottle while Lux curls up on a corner of the bed, arms crossed around herself, shivering. He gets a flannel out of his bag and walks toward her, slow, catches how she tracks his movement out of the corner of her eye.

"Here." Holds the shirt out to her while she looks at him in confusion. "Put it on, you look cold."

She just looks at him suspiciously, like she's trying to figure out if it's a trick. Reaches out slow with one hand and takes the shirt, retreats back to the corner.

"Hey." He sinks down on the bed, careful to leave some space between them. "You sure you're okay?"

She slides her arms into the sleeves of the flannel. "It wasn't that bad."

He stares at her, horrified. "Wasn't that bad? Are you kidding me?"

She shrinks away from him. "You're mad at me."

"No-Jesus, I'm just-look, can we at least acknowledge how fucked up that was?"

"It's my life," she whispers. "I'm used to it."

He pushes his fingers against the throbbing ache behind his temples. "Doesn't make it right."

She curls her knees to her chest. "I shouldn't have told you to go."

He reaches out and grabs the whiskey bottle, drinks until it burns, because this fucking girl took responsibility for his failure, Dad's voice in his head chanting _you stupid, stupid fuck-up_. "I shouldn't have left."

She sighs and looks over at the bottle dangling from his hand. "Can I have some of that?"

"You're eighteen."

"So?"

"Good point," he mutters, and passes it over.

She takes a delicate sip and immediately screws up her face in an adorable grimace. Does it again, makes the same face each time. He can't help chuckling, leans against the pillows and takes the bottle back before she can get drunk for real. She looks like she weighs maybe a hundred pounds, it wouldn't take much.

They sit there, full foot of space between them, watching some robot float around in space while he slowly gets drunk, while Lux slowly stops shivering, eyes wet from the whiskey. If she were another girl he'd be holding her, 'cus girls need shit like that when they're scared, for someone to make them feel safe again.

He secretly loves that about girls - how deeply they feel, their sadness and their rage and their pain, walking wounds that Dean wants to bless with his mouth and his hands.

Lux, flat on her back, hair spread around her head like a halo, eyes wide open and seeing nothing.

Just like _her_.

"Hey, hey, Lux."

She tilts her head back, blinks heavily. "What?"

"Anyone ever touch you in a good way? Not for sex or whatever, but. Just to feel good, you know?"

She gives him an exaggerated frown, obviously a little tipsy. "Maybe before, but I don't remember."

"Before?"

"Before _them_." Spits the word out like it's poisonous.

"You don't remember anything? What about your family?"

Her face goes white. "I don't want to talk about that."

Aw, shit. "Hey, it's alright. I get it."

She curls over and presses her cheek to her knees. Just kind of blinks at him, like she needs something from him, or wants something, but she doesn't know how to ask.

"Hey, kid." Holds out his right arm and beckons at her. "C'mere."

She immediately tenses. "Why?"

He's a little drunk he supposes, groans loudly in exasperation. "Just c'mere."

And she's so obedient, _shit_ \- scoots next to him on the bed, big Bambi eyes watching him like he's about to eat her or something. He slings his arm around her shoulders and gently coaxes her to lean against him.

"What are you doing?" she asks nervously.

"Just relax-"

"Dean-"

"It's okay. We're just watching a movie."

Her head is turned up towards him, giving him these shocked virginal eyes, like she doesn't understand what's happening. Like an hour ago some guy wasn't coming in his pants on top of her, like no one's ever touched her before and she doesn't know what to make of it.

"Just watch the movie," he instructs.

She turns back to the tv, slowly settles back against him. She's tiny, birdlike bones. Those eyes that make him think of angels and Cas and grace. He shamelessly, drunkenly stares down at her face and wonders if being part-faerie is a thing.

"No one's ever done this before," she whispers, right up against his skin. "Held me."

He gets a twinge, recalls the feel of hundreds of nights curled up in a twin bed with Sam, soft toddler body chubby and solid against his chest. The physical comfort of his baby brother's body curled around his and Dean never had to worry or feel scared, not when Sammy was right there, safe and whole.

"Do you like it?"

She doesn't say anything but she nods, and turns her face in a little so her cheek brushes up against his throat. Messy blond waves tumble over his arm and he can't resist stroking, winds a finger around them, drifts for a while in a drunken sense memory of brushing his mom's hair, strands running through his fingers, her laugh chiming in his ear.

"Hey, Dean?" Her voice is timid.

"Yeah, kid."

"Don't leave me again, please."

He looks down in surprise where she's hiding her face in his shoulder. "Hey." He cups the back in her head, skull bony and fragile under the pads of his fingertips. "I'm not gonna leave. I wouldn't do that."

She just makes this little broken sound, doesn't look at him. He cautiously strokes her arm and when she doesn't pull away he continues, feels her soft sigh against the hollow of his throat.

"You tired?" he asks quietly.

"Mm." She kind of snuggles her nose against his chest, like a puppy. "Don't go."

"Alright." He leans back, turns the lamp off so they're illuminated by the glowing blue light of the screen.

She stretches her legs out, points her toes like a dancer. She's gonna be a knockout one day, when she gets a little muscle on her bones, fills out a few curves, when her eyes aren't stormy with fear all the time, and he feels a total, unexpected wave of jealousy of all the boys she'll have to choose from when they get the curse lifted.

"Dean," she murmurs sleepily. "Is this s'posed to feel this good?"

He lets his eyes drift shut, her body an anchor against the lightness of the alcohol.

He can do this. He can draw on a symbol and get her to eat. Not let her out of his sight. If he pushes it they'll be in New Orleans in two days, they'll find a witch to reverse the curse and this'll all be over.

"Yeah," he finally whispers. "It's supposed to feel good."

Dean looks down and she's asleep in his arms.


	3. we are vagabonds, we travel without seatbelts on

Lux wakes up trapped.

A man's body draped over hers in bed, one arm possessively holding her against his chest, his nose in her hair.

She swallows back a scream. It wasn't real, _oh god_ , it wasn't real, she's not safe, she's not with Dean. 

Dream. It was just a dream.

She lets out a raw sob, mouth pressed into the pillow.

There's a man on top of her. Which means _they_ still have her and she's trapped.

She tries to lift the arm off her but it's too heavy, she can't do it. She panics, slams her head back against him. Hears a pained grunt but she's already leaping off the bed, _run, she has to run_ -

"Lux!"

She freezes, spins around and Dean is crawling out of the bed, one fist pressed against his forehead, squinting at her in bewilderment-

Dean. It's Dean.

_Dean's_ arm around her waist, his body molded against hers. It wasn't a dream, he's real.

Lux covers her face with her hands and cries.

"Hey, sweetheart, talk to me. Tell me what's going on." His voice is soft and demanding at the same time.

She gasps, the realization filling her with horror, that she can't go back, she'll die if she goes back. "I thought - I thought-"

"You thought you were back there," he says gravely.

She chokes on a sob, gasping for breath, lungs so tight with fear it hurts.

"Hey, Lux, it's okay. Look at me."

She lowers her hands, sees him where he's leaning against the bed, hair rumpled, with this look in his eyes that only makes her cry harder.

His face softens, he holds out his arms to her. "C'mere."

She shuffles across the room to him, head hanging so her hair falls over her face, crying so hard she's afraid she'll throw up.

"It's okay." His hands come up and cup her shoulders. "Don't cry, you're alright."

She reaches up and clutches his wrist, her chest heaving."I...don't...want to go back."

His thumbs rub little circles over her skin. "It's okay, you're not going back."

What if he's lying? What if he doesn't want her here? The only thing that makes men want her doesn't work on him, and she can't go back.

She won't go back.

"Please," she begs, all panicked desperation now. Her fate is in his hands and she'll do anything she has to. _Anything_. "Please don't send me back."

"Lux, look at me." She blinks up at him through her blurred vision and his eyes are dark and serious. "There is nothing you could do that would make me do that, okay?

She doesn't know how she knows, but she can tell that he's telling the truth. There's something in the intensity of how he says it, like he _means_ it. She shuts her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "Okay."

His arms go around her and her face gets pressed into his chest. He's so warm, and one of his hands threads in her hair but it's gentle, soothing. She shudders, the fear finally starts to dissolve as lips press against the top of her head, so light maybe she's imagining it.

"You're alright," he murmurs. "Not gonna let anyone hurt you."

Lux can't remember the last time this happened, someone's arms holding her just for comfort. She closes her eyes, feels the solid thump of his heart against her chest.

And then he clears his throat and lets her go, looks away from her. "C'mon, let's get some pancakes or something."

Breakfast is at another diner down the street from the motel. She reaches for Dean's hand on the sidewalk and he doesn't look down or say anything about it, just curls his fingers reassuringly in hers and scowls at every guy that walks by them.

He orders for both of them: coffee, chocolate chip pancakes and a side of hash browns. She doesn't even consider the potatoes, drags her fork across the pancakes, watches chocolate ooze out.

Hears Mother in her head, her slithering voice whispering: _Greedy girls get punished_.

She taps her fork along to the voice, _punished, punished, punished_.

"Lux." She jumps, Dean is staring at her from the across the table.

She flushes, busies herself with pouring a minuscule amount of syrup on her pancakes. "What?"

"You gonna eat or just play with your food?"

She stares down at her plate, sinks her fork into a pancake. Cuts a tiny triangle, brings it up to her mouth and chews, swallows. "Happy?"

He's frowning at her from across the table, already halfway through his first cup of coffee. "I will be when you take a real bite."

_Greedy girl, greedy girl_.

She puts the fork down, pushes the palms of her hands into her eyes. Listens to the war inside her head. She's gone now but part of her is still there, cowering under Mother's scrutiny. Feels sick to her stomach, she can't do this-

"Hey." She startles at the feel of his fingertips on her wrist. "Look at me."

She peeks out at him through her fingers. He doesn't look mad, relaxed actually, leaned back in the booth, but his face is stern. "Who makes the rules here?"

"You do," she whispers.

He raises an eyebrow. "And what are the rules?"

"I eat what you tell me to eat."

He points at her plate with his fork. "Eat."

She bows her head and follows his order, the phantom feel of his fingers on her wrist burning into her skin.

/

Sam calls Dean back while they're flying down the highway, Lux's bare feet on the dash, Zeppelin blasting from the speakers. He's feeling good; Lux ate an actual pancake with minimum complaint, she hasn't cried since this morning, and he's starting to think that driving for hours next to a pretty girl really isn't so terrible.

He pulls over onto the shoulder and gets out to answer the phone, leans against his closed door so she can't hear.

"Hey Sammy."

"What the hell man, I thought we were meeting in Cedar Rapids."

"Plan's changed. I found a case."

A pause. "You found a case."

"Yeah-well technically Cas found it, but it's a case."

"Well are you going to fill me in or what?"

Dean squints against the sun. It's only June and it's already sweltering hot. "There's this girl."

A snort. "Of course there is."

"She's cursed. Need to find a witch. And we all know -"

"Witches in New Orleans are the real deal."

"So you stay there, find a witch, play with your special books, and I'll see you in two days."

"Wait, Dean - where's the girl?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Currently? In my car."

"Dean." Sam says his name like a warning.

"Everything's fine, Sam."

"What's the curse, Dean?"

He glances back at Lux, stretched out in the passenger seat. Her hair is piled in a knot on the crown of her head, little baby blond wisps of hair curling over a fragile swan neck.

"It's a lust curse."

" _Dean_ -"

"I've got it under control," he snaps.

"Like - does she feel it or...?"

"Men," he mumbles. "When they're around her, they feel-it's bad Sam. Cas gave me some symbol of something that protects me from it."

"A symbol?" That's his brother, more interested in fucking symbols than the fact that Dean is stuck in a car with a walking sex magnet.

"I dunno Sammy, it's a few line things connected by some squiggly things."

Sam sighs impatiently. "Send me a picture, I'll see what I can find."

Dean holds his phone over the back of his left hand, where he carefully drew the symbol on with a Sharpie this morning, texts a photo of it to Sam. "Got it?"

"Yeah...might be a language actually."

"You think?"

"Could be Sanskrit maybe," Sam murmurs. "Or Tibetan. I'll look into it."

"You do that. I'll see you in a few days."

"Okay-hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Just be careful."

He rolls his eyes. "I can handle a teenage girl, Sam."

"A girl you aren't fucking?"

"I practically raised you, didn't I? Don't see how it's any different." Grins to himself at the bitchy sigh Sam breathes into the phone.

"Whatever. I'll let you know what I find out about the symbol."

"Good," he says shortly, and hangs up. Feels the squirm of something in his stomach, like guilt, or wariness. Even Sam thinks Dean can't handle her.

"Who was that?" Lux asks when he gets back in the car.

"Sam. My brother."

She nods in recognition. "We're meeting him in New Orleans, right?"

"Yeah."

"Is he nice?"

He turns the engine over, feels his blood pressure drop at the reassuring purr under his fingers. "Yeah, he's nice. Much nicer than me."

She frowns, her big blue eyes filling with confusion. "I think you're nice."

That affects him in a way that is totally _not_ okay, those sweet pink lips and wide eyes directed right at him, like he's a hero and not the guy that let her get attacked last night.

He makes himself looks away, checks his mirrors before he pulls back onto the highway. She's a kid, she's just some kid.

How does someone let their kid get trafficked like a fucking animal, anyway?

She curls back in her seat, folds one leg under herself, looking determinedly at him. And then she kinda ducks her head and asks, very softly: "Do you think I'm nice?"

Screwed, _yup_ , this whole thing is completely screwed. "Sure, I think you're nice."

Lux throws him a shy smile at that and leans back, stretches out so her bare legs shine on the sunlit dash. Dean turns up the music, puts _sunlight_ and _blond_ back in the box in his head labeled _Mom_ , and puts a lid on that shit.

They drive all morning. She's an exceptionally well behaved child (okay, fine, she's eighteen, not a child but to him eighteen might as well be) or maybe they just beat it into her. She doesn't complain, doesn't whine, doesn't get carsick, doesn't even make him pull over to use a bathroom unless he offers first.

She sits next to him, silently soaking up the sunlight streaming through the window. Doesn't laugh, doesn't ask a million questions, just sits as though she's been put in an extended time out and is patiently waiting to be liberated from her punishment.

Which is more or less exactly what's going on, really.

She's a kid, a beautiful, cursed kid who's seen more violence and pain then anyone should. Even Dad tried to protect them from actual violence for as long as he could and Dean remembers suddenly, Lux, two nights ago, shivering and silent in a motel chair, soaked in blood.

What did Cas see, when he took Lux and dropped her in a motel room in Arizona with a borderline-alcoholic hunter almost twice her age?

What was Cas thinking?

Lunch is a little Mexican place in Las Cruces. He plays it safe with Lux, who skims the menu in complete bafflement, and gets her a plain cheese quesadilla. He digs into his guac, watches her pick up a piece of her tortilla and stare very intensely, like its a puzzle she's trying to solve. Puts it back down, picks it up again. Glances at him to check if he's watching.

He can't tell if she genuinely doesn't want to eat it or if she's playing with him. And then she puts it down again, and gives him a pouty bitchface that could rival Sam. "Do I have to?"

"Seriously, you're the only kid I know that would complain about eating that."

"I'm not a kid," she protests. Picks it up again and examines it for flaws.

"Alright," he sighs. "What's going on?"

She immediately crams a bite in her mouth, chews furiously, swallows. "Nothing."

"Is this about what happened last night?"

"No," she whispers, looking frightened. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Then eat your fucking lunch."

Her whole body snaps back, like he hit her, _shit_ , why does he always, _always_ say the wrong thing?

She's tearing up her quesadilla with shaking hands, her eyes blinking rapidly like she's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry," she chokes out. "I'll try harder."

God, he's turning out just like Dad, what is _wrong_ with him?

"It's not your fault," he says roughly. "I know you're trying."

She sniffs, refuses to look at him. "Are you mad?"

"I'm not mad," he says. "But if there's a reason you're not eating you gotta tell me."

She wipes her hands carefully with her napkin. "I know I'm not there anymore. But...do you ever feel like even when you're not with someone, they're still with you?"

He feels the slightest cold shiver down his spine. "Yeah," he says thickly.

She nods miserably. "Yeah."

"Look," he hedges. "I know you're probably scared right now. Your whole life is upside down, I get it. And I know you don't know me, but you can trust me. You're not going back there, okay?"

"Okay," she says uncertainly.

"So when you hear that voice in your head you tell it to go to hell, alright?"

She lets out a frightened giggle. "Okay."

"Alright. C'mon, eat up."

Her tongue darts out, kitten pink, runs over her bottom lip and he thinks about pulling it into his mouth, sucking on it until she gasps-

"Dean?"

He blinks, checks the back of his hand. The symbol is there, perfectly clear, not smudged in the slightest. Shakes his head, _get it together_.

"Yeah, Lux?"

"What happens if you get the curse lifted?"

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," she says softly, "what happens to me?"

He stares at her. He honestly hadn't gotten that far. "We'll figure it out," he says flippantly, full of false confidence.

She watches him with uneasy eyes, fingers twisting in her lap.


	4. summer blows away and quietly gets swallowed by a wave

The rain comes out of nowhere that afternoon, huge clouds rolling in and then suddenly it's pouring. Lux presses her face against the car window, palm flat against the glass.

 _Rain_.

Like a memory she can hardly remember. A shower is a poor simulation, especially a community shower with ten other starving, crying girls.

Rain. The feeling of chilled skin, sweet air in her nose, and suddenly she needs to get out of the car.

"Dean, can you pull over?"

He snorts. "Why? It's fucking pouring out."

"Pull over," she begs, and smacks her palm against the window. "Pull over, pull over!"

"Okay!" he yells, and cranks the wheel to steer the car over to the shoulder. "Christ, don't hit my fucking car like that!"

She unbuckles her seatbelt and launches out of the car, slams the door behind her so she don't get the interior wet. She's instantly drenched, raindrops pounding against her skin and soaking through her white t-shirt. She shrieks, runs and turns and runs and turns in a circle, careful not to get too far away from the car.

Thunder booms and she stares up in awe, huge stormy sky as far as she can see, overwhelmed, at all the space around her. Imagines this is what grace feels like, being brought to her knees in wonder at the universe, that she's here, now, and she's so, so grateful, doesn't know if she should laugh or cry.

She's outside and it's raining and she's free.

No cages, no cruel men tearing her apart, no pain. Just a car and a guy and the open highway.

She's _free_.

She shrieks with laughter, giddy, spins in circles in the muddy dirt, rain washing her clean, like a baptism.

There's a slam and when she looks up Dean's out of the car, jacket held over his head, looking at her like she's gone mad.

"What the hell are you doing?" he yells.

She laughs and waves her hands at him. "It's raining!"

"Yeah, I can see that!"

"Dean, watch!" she shouts, and pirouettes in the dirt, rain and mud flying all around her and she twirls like a dirt dervish, because she can, because she's free.

"Lux, get back in the car!"

She giggles, and does a little twirl. "Come catch me!"

"Have you completely lost your mind?" He looks absolutely bewildered but also kind of jealous, like he wants to run around but can't because he's in charge.

"One minute," she pleads. "I haven't been in rain since I was little!"

"You're gonna get pneumonia!" he yells. "Get your ass back here, right now!"

She pouts but obedience wins out and she runs back, giggling like a naughty child, relieved that he looks more amused than annoyed. He makes her wait by the car while he gets a blanket and lays it over the passenger seat so she doesn't get the upholstery wet before they get in the car.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demands, turning on the heat and pointing the vent at her.

She shrugs. How can she explain? That urge to be free, to run, how she's already starting to crave the smell of the desert air. Is finally starting to relax, get used to this - Dean next to her, guiding her along.

Felt safe enough to dance in the rain.

"I'm gonna find a motel," he mutters. "You're fucking drenched."

She smiles lazily at him, curls her arms around her knees. "That was fun."

He shoots her a look of horror. " _Fun_? _That's_ your idea of fun?"

"I got to be outside. They never let us go outside."

He works his jaw, signals to turn off the highway. "You know you can't do that when other people are around, right?"

The words hit her like a blow to the chest and just like that all the joy is gone. "I know," she says, her chest constricting. "I'm not stupid."

He waves a hand at her impatiently. "I don't think you're stupid. Just need you to be safe, okay?"

"Isn't that your responsibility?" she snaps, and then watches, horrified, as all the color drains out of his face. "I'm sorry," she stammers. "I didn't mean that."

He clears his throat, knuckles white around the steering wheel. "No, you're right. That's my responsibility."

His eyes slide over to hers and she's lost in green . She feels like she's going to cry but doesn't know why. He looks inexplicably sad and she realizes that perhaps she's hurt his feelings.

"Dean."

He pulls into the parking lot of a motel, rain lashing against the windows. It's almost totally dark out because of the storm even though it's still afternoon. "Yeah, Lux."

She unbuckles her seatbelt and leans forward to touch his shoulder. She's shocked suddenly, by the heat of his skin, the tension running through his body. "I'm glad I'm with you."

He lets out a harsh laugh. "You sure about that?"

If she reached up three inches she could touch the spot on his shoulder where she rested her head last night. "Yeah."

He tilts his head back, gives her a dry smile. "Yeah?"

She nods, caught in his gaze, but in a way that feels good, not scary. Like he sees her. Not just a body, not a thing, but the real her. "You make me feel safe."

/

The motel doesn't have any rooms with double beds left.

He looks at Lux, who shrugs uneasily, and books a room with a queen for one night. Lux follows him silently to the room, skinny arms wrapped around her waist, shivering so hard her teeth are chattering.

Dean's trying to remember what his dad taught him about hypothermia, how people with low body fat develop it faster because they have less insulation to keep their core temperature up. He thinks about body heat and then remembers how he woke up this morning, and reconsiders.

"You should get in a hot shower," he tells her, dropping his duffle on the floor and taking stock of the contents. He's dangerously close to being out of whiskey. "I'm going on a supply run. I don't want to drive in this, we'll wait it out here and leave in the morning."

She goes pale. "You're leaving?"

"There's a convenience store across the street. Just gonna pick up some things."

She considers this. "You want me to stay here?"

He almost can't look at her. "Thought it'd be easier."

Her eyes go wide, he can tell she's replaying last night in her head. "Yeah," she says faintly. "Yeah, okay."

"You know how to shoot a gun?"

" _What_?"

"C'mere." He pulls a beretta out, makes sure the safety is on, and hands it to her. "Safety. Release, then pull the trigger."

Her eyelashes flutter. "You're giving me a gun?"

"Just in case."

"But you're just going across the street right?"

"Yeah," he assures her. "I'll be right back."

She nods, looking nervous but resolved. "Okay."

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," she breathes. "Um, I'll lock myself in."

"Good," he nods. "I'll be back in a minute."

She looks very small, arms curled around herself. "Okay."

"Look the door behind me."

She gives him just the slightest eye-roll ( _good_ , he thinks, she's probably not afraid of him anymore if she's giving him attitude). "I know, Dean, I literally just said I would."

At the store he stocks up on snacks: bags of pretzels, beef jerky, protein bars. A cheap handle of whiskey, and because he's nothing if not a bad influence, a bottle of peach flavored liquor for Lux.

He figures she's earned it, considering.

He knocks on the door of their room three times, head ducked against the rain. "Hey Lux, it's Dean. Bought you a present."

She opens the door almost immediately, freshly-washed hair combed back from her face, wearing only a pale pink tee shirt and black panties, milky white legs a shocking contrast to the dark cotton. He has to turn around to pull it together, locks the door behind him and fishes the bottle of peach liquor out of the bag.

"This is for you," he tells her, dangling the bottle between his fingertips.

Her eyes light up and she reaches for it, going up on her tiptoes when he holds it out of her reach. "Hey!"

"One condition," he says firmly.

She pouts. "What?"

"You gotta eat dinner first."

She furrows her brow, something flicking across her face, and then she straightens her shoulders. "What's for dinner?"

"I'm gonna order a pizza. You eat two slices, you get..." He squints at the bottle. "Peach infused Russian vodka. Delicious."

She gives him what he's beginning to recognize as her bargaining face, all wide eyes and pouty lips, like a little ingenue in training. "One?"

He opens up his whiskey and takes a slug. "Two. Or no deal."

She flounces back onto the bed, the gun he gave her resting on the dresser. "Fine. Can I watch tv?"

"You don't need to ask permission, that's what it's there for." He feels annoyed for no reason, like something itchy is crawling under his skin. "You, um...you're not wearing pants."

She looks up at him, remote in hand, looks down at herself and back to him. "I'm sorry," she stammers, "I, I, we never dressed ourselves, and we're inside, and it's hot, and I didn't know what you wanted me to wear, please don't be mad-"

"Jesus, _okay_ ," he mumbles. "I was just saying."

She curls her arms around her shins. "Do you want me to change?" she asks quietly. "I'll wear whatever you want."

 _Oh fuck_. "No," he says shortly. "I don't care. I'm gonna take a shower."

He locks himself in the bathroom, stares for a long time at himself in the mirror. He feels like a dirty old man, Mom's beauty something cracked and fading in the creases of his face. Nothing like that girl out there, that smooth white skin, long golden hair, like some fucked up little princess.

He gets in the shower, turns the water on as hot as he can stand. Doesn't touch himself, doesn't think about her, her doll-like face, small breakable body. Doesn't think about the fact that she's probably fucked as many guys as he has women, _nope_ , doesn't think of her at _all_.

He stays in the shower until the water runs cold. When he gets out he dries off his hands thoroughly and draws the symbol back on, careful with every swirl and flick of the ink, checks it with the photo on his phone that he took for Sam.

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a clean black crew neck, and opens the bathroom door to the distinctive sound of a woman about to climax.

Lux is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, a look of mild fascination on her face as she watches tv.

"Look Dean," she says, pointing to the screen. "They're having sex."

Porn. She's watching porn.

There's an inquisitive look on her face. "I don't understand. I thought tv was just pretend."

 _Jesus Christ_. "Yeah," he mutters. "It's pretend."

"So they're not having sex? They're _pretending_ to have sex?" She sounds baffled.

"No, they're really having sex." Is he really explaining the mechanics of porn to an eighteen year old girl right now? "But they're actors, everything else is just pretend."

Lux purses her lips as the actress on screen delivers an enthusiastic if not totally believable encore performance. "Why is she making those sounds?"

That's it. The next time Cas shows up Dean's going to destroy his feathery ass. Everything about this scenario is wrong, least of all the fact that a teenage girl who's about as close to being a virgin as he is has no fucking idea what a female orgasm is.

And then he has to swallow a wave of nausea, because why would she? Like any of the men she was forced to be with would care about that, or even be capable of being aware of that, if the little taste of the curse he had that first night is any indication of the real thing.

"Because it feels good," he explains, dropping down on the edge of the bed with his whiskey cradled in his hand.

Her face goes blank. "No it doesn't."

Dean takes a slug, swallows, deep breath, another. "When it's done right, it is. For the guy and the girl. But the guy has to know what he's doing, he...he has to want the girl to feel good. Does that make sense?"

She nods very slowly and changes the channel.

He orders a pizza and leans back against the headrest, bottle dangling between his legs.

"Can I have my drink, please?" she asks, eying him as he takes another pull.

"Told you, dinner first."

She gives him a hopeful smile. "But you're drinking now."

"I don't weight a hundred pounds."

Lux rears back, looking offended. "I don't weigh a hundred pounds!"

His mouth falls open. "You _don't_?"

"I don't know," she says quickly, looking panicked. "You haven't weighed me."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

She makes a pained noise, looking at him with wide eyes.

"How tall are you?" he demands.

"Five-two," she whispers.

Dean does quick, tipsy math in his head. At that height she should weigh one hundred and ten, minimum, according to the worksheet that pops into his brain from Sam's seventh grade health class. "I change my mind then. Three pieces."

Her face falls. "That's not fair."

"That's life, kid."

"But-but- " she gives him a betrayed look. "That's too many!"

"Fine," Dean shrugs. "Guess I'm drinking all by myself then."

She sniffs very delicately. "Two and a half?"

"Aren't you hungry?"

Lux sniffs again and to his horror he sees tears rise in her eyes. "I don't want to get punished."

"Hey," he says sternly. "No one's punishing anyone. Okay? It's just pizza. We don't cry about pizza."

She wipes under her eyes carefully with her fingertips. "Okay."

When the pizza gets delivered Dean measures out three small square pieces and hands them to her on a paper plate and takes the rest it for himself.

She balances the plate on her knees and eats mechanically, eyes glued to the tv. When she's done she hands the plate to him without making eye contact. "Done."

"You seriously mad at me for feeding you?" He knows teenage girls can be crazy but she's taking it to a whole new level. "I bribed you with alcohol to get you to eat pizza, which basically makes me the coolest babysitter of all time. I should be your favorite person on the planet."

She turns her head sideways to look at him and he freezes, everything suddenly serious, her big eyes childlike in their vulnerability. "You are my favorite person on the planet."

He doesn't have a response to _that_ so he trashes her plate and gets her the bottle he bought her, responsibility settling over his shoulders with all the familiarity of Dad's jacket. "Don't drink too much."

Lux takes the bottle from him, eyes glancing at the rest of the pizza on his side of his bed. She opens it, takes a sip, and sighs. "I like this, thank you."

He clinks his handle of whiskey against her vodka. "You're welcome."

"Dean," she says softly. "Are you proud of me?"

"What?"

She gives him those Bambi eyes again, and he swears there must be something wrong with him, because this girl shouldn't be affecting him like this.

"I ate three pieces," she reminds him.

"Oh," he says hoarsely. "Yeah. Good job." Like he's praising a toddler or something.

She leans back against her side of the bed. "I'm not doing it on purpose," she says quietly.

"I know you're not," Dean reassures her.

She gives him a quick sideways glance. "You can give me a new target weight if you want to."

A what? "What the fuck is that?"

Her face twists. "If we went over it we got punished. Mother weighed us every Sunday."

"Punished how?"

Lux shakes her head. "It doesn't matter."

"Did they hurt you?" He feels a little lightheaded at the thought and realizes he's halfway drunk, the edges of his psyche softening enough to feel repulsion at the idea of someone so defenseless and small being hurt.

She doesn't say anything, just gives the barest of shrugs.

"Hey," he says, only a little gruffly. "Hey, look at me."

She turns slowly, reaching up with those small fingers to push a sun-bleached wave behind her ear. Her cheeks are a little flushed from the alcohol and her eyes are a million different shades of blue.

"I'd never do that to you," Dean says seriously. "You know that right?"

She blinks rapidly and looks away. "I know."

"Lux."

She puts the bottle to her lips and tilts her head back. He watches her throat work, delicate tendons standing out in her neck.

"I mean it," he says firmly. "I don't want you to worry about me hurting you."

She swallows. Licks her lips, stares straight ahead so she's in profile. "Everyone hurts me eventually."

He works his jaw. "I won't."

"Dean." His name comes out a little slurred. "It's okay. I'm cursed, remember?"

"How much of that have you had?"

She shrugs and reclines back against the pillows, all sharp elbows and knees in the dim light of the motel lamp.

Something's bothering him, something she said. He understands why the girls would get weighed, they're the product after all (which is enough for the whiskey in his stomach to try a slow crawl up his esophagus).

But why would they want her to look like this? If Dean met Lux in a bar and took her home he'd want to force feed her, not screw her. Why would they want their girls to look like girls, not women?

Unless-

 _Oh fuck_.

"Lux."

"Yeah?"

"Why'd they want you to look like this?"

She glances at him, pupils wide with fear. "It doesn't matter."

He knows he's right by the expression on her face. "They wanted you to look like kids," he states in disbelief.

She turns her head and very deliberately turns up the volume on the tv.

"Hey." He reaches over and pulls the remote away, and she whimpers, scoots a few inches away from him. "I'm right, aren't I?"

She peeks at him over her shoulder, loose strands of hair falling over her faces. She nods and ducks her head, hiding back behind her hair.

Dean scrubs his face, swallows back a new wave of horror.

He knows how to protect this girl from a monster, but not from this. How is he supposed to protect her from this?

For a long time they both drink in silence and watch some reality show Lux finds about baking fucking cupcakes. And then she turns to him, glassy-eyed, a look of inquisitive curiosity on her face.

"Dean," she whispers. "Do you know how?"

Whiskey's singing in his veins, a nice counterbalance to the crushing anxiety at the idea that Cas put him on a sinking ship, that this girl is going to end up being just another name on the long list of people Dean couldn't save.

He blinks at her, bleary-eyed. "Know what?"

Her little kitten tongue flicks out to lick a drop of vodka off her bottom lip. "How to make it feel good."

How to- _oh_. He sees it again, Lux's face blissed out in ecstasy, her small body writhing in pleasure under his, like his inner fifteen-year old has firmly hijacked his brain.

"Yeah," he chokes out, trying to block out the idea of showing her, of teaching her how good it can be, what it feels like to be taken care of, like that.

She nods at that, pretending to be fascinated at a vanilla cupcake getting frosted in purple frosting flowers. "Maybe you could show me."

Dean just kind of stares at her while idly thinking about it, what she'd feel like, that beautiful little girl  
cursed with endless violence and blood pulsing around him.

Imagines pushing her bare thighs apart with his hands.

"You're drunk," he accuses. "You don't want that."

Her cheeks are flushed a lovely pink. "Not _now_. One day. _Maybe_."

He finally manages to give her a bland smile. "Don't settle for me," he says lightly. "After we get the curse lifted you can have anyone you want."

Her eyes drift from his eyes to his lips and back up again. "What if I want you?"

"You're eighteen."

Lux lets out a dramatic sigh. "So?"

"So I'm old."

"No, you're not." There's something in the way she says it that makes him feel a little sick.

"You shouldn't want me," he says roughly.

She sways towards him, their shoulders are touching now. Her head tilts back so those blue eyes bore right through him. "Why not?"

There's something about the way she looks at him that makes Dean want to tell the truth, to be dissolved of his sins. "Because I'm no good," he confesses.

Her eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

"I'm..." A self-loathing, near-alcoholic monster-killing hunter with co-dependency issues, if his relationship with Sam is any indication. "Lux, we can't, okay? You're a kid. I'm supposed to take care of you-" _damnit, why does that sound vaguely sexual?_ "-do you understand?"

She blinks heavily. "I never said I _wanted_ to."

Dean snorts. "Okay."

"I was just _curious_."

"Yeah, I think we're all done with this for tonight." He pulls the bottle out of her grip and puts it on the floor.

She giggles and leans into his shoulder. "Okay. You make the rules."

"You're damn right I do." He lifts his arm and she slides right under it, like they've choreographed it, like they do this all the time.

"I think she's going to win," Lux murmurs, pointing to the baker who's created a garden of purple flowered cupcakes.

"No way," he argues. "It's gonna be the fucking chocolate skyscraper thing. Trust me, chocolate always wins."

Her cheek brushes against his shoulder. "Why? What's so great about chocolate?"

"I'll show you sometime." Dean leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes, because fuck it, surrenders to her, this case he didn't ask for, this case that doesn't feel like just a case anymore.

What had Cas said?

 _She has the potential to bring humanity to its knees_.

And for the first time he thinks he's starting to understand, because he's not even under her spell and he feels completely powerless.

Like he would give her anything she asked for.

 _Anything_.


	5. and darling we go a-drowning

Dean realizes his mistake as soon as he comes out of the bathroom.

He'd woken up to early morning rain, the kind of darkness outside that made him question the time on his watch (6:47am). Next to him Lux was still asleep, curled up in the fetal position, her knees pressed against the wall.

He took a shower, and walked back out of the bathroom and right into what felt like an uncontrollable amount of desire unspooling from deep in his belly as she turned her head, one sleepy eye opening-

The symbol. He forgot to draw it back on. How could he forget? What the fuck is wrong with him?

Lux sits up, her face still creased with sleep, rubbing her eyes with her fists like a small child. "Dean?"

He knows she's saying his name but it gets warped, he doesn't really hear it. All he can think is, _inside her_ , he wants to be inside her but she's still in the bed, she's so far away it burns.

It's wrong, he knows something is wrong. But she's calling out to him like a siren and he's never been able to resist, he's weak like that, and he can feel her curse thrumming inside his body.

Dean was born to fight, but he can't fight this.

Lux says his name again, her voice going up high like she's alarmed, and he sees the moment she realizes what's happening: her eyes go wide, she opens her mouth to scream and he lunges for her, snatches her by the ankles and yanks so she's flat on her back on the bed.

She's screaming something but the words melt and bend; her mouth is moving but all he can hear is _inside me, inside me, come inside me_.

He growls and tries to pin her down. She may be scrawny but she's quick, he grabs to catch her wrists in his hands and clamps down hard. She screams in pain but all it sounds like to him is an invitation; he wants to crawl inside her, hold her beating heart in his hands, push inside her where it's warm, she'll be so warm, he _needs_ it, he needs her, has to have her-

She gets a knee up and drives it into his ribs. He grunts, his hand slipping off her and she twists, gets one skinny arm up out of his grasp and there's something big and black in her hand-

There's a crack of pain that echoes across his skull and the frantic desire greys out until it's all darkness.

/

After she hits Dean with the gun Lux runs to the bathroom and locks the door before collapsing to the floor. She moans, the unexpected resurgence of the curse makes bile rise in her throat. The gun in her hand is shaking but she can't make herself let go.

He said he'd never hurt her.

She crawls to the bathtub and climbs into it, the gun pointed at the door. For a long time it's quiet, and then she hears a long, drawn-out groan, a few quietly-muttered expletives. She tenses but there's only the faint sound of the bedspring squeaking when he gets up, and then a moment later there's the sound of the motel room door slamming shut.

He left her.

He left her locked in a bathroom with a gun in her hand.

She doesn't know what else to do so she puts her head on her knees and cries. Eventually she runs out of steam and rests the gun on the edge of the bathtub, too afraid to even contemplate getting out.

All of this, just to starve to death in a bathroom of a cheap motel.

Lux doesn't know how long she stays there, curled up and shaking like a feral cat, before the door opens again.

He came back.

Her heart pounds, thinking of the way his eyes looked when he came out of the shower this morning, flat, _wrong_ , how easily he held her down, the way his fingers squeezed her wrists until she screamed.

There's a knock on the bathroom door and she jumps, scrambles to pick up the gun. _Safety, then pull the trigger_.

"Hey, Lux." His voice sounds ragged. "I'm back. It's okay now."

She stares at the door, finger stuck on the safety.

"Look, I'm just gonna be out here so whenever you feel like coming out... take your time."

She stays in the bathtub until she can't take the anticipation anymore. Forces herself to get out of the tub, hand clenched around the handle of the gun. She unlocks the door, her stomach cramping like she might be sick, and steps out of the bathroom.

Dean's almost all the way on the other side of the motel room. His eyes go wide when he sees his gun in her raised hand, pointed right at him.

"Whoa!" he exclaims, looking shocked. "Watch where you're pointing that!"

She stills, arm extended out in front of her, the gun vibrating in her hand. It feels like a living thing, a vessel for all her fear and helplessness turned solid and deadly.

Dean has his hands held up in the air. Like he's afraid she'd really do it. "It's okay, Lux," he says calmly. "Just put the gun down sweetheart."

She evaluates his face but he's steady, the familiar warmth is back, and his eyes are a storm of emotion.

He's not lying. He's not under the curse anymore.

She shuffles sideways and carefully lays the gun flat on the little chest of drawers under the tv.

"Good girl," Dean says bracingly. "Look. It's okay, see?" He rolls up the hem on his shirt, twists, and over his ribs, a few inches below a tattoo on his chest, the symbol has been drawn in ink, bleeding under a sheet of plastic.

Her mouth falls open. "That's where you went? You got it tattooed?"

He pulls his shirt back down and nods.

"But-why?" He could've just drawn it on, why would he do something so permanent like this?

He looks haunted. "You know why."

She softens, she can't believe he did this, for her. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did," he argues quietly. "I'm supposed to save people, Lux. What happened this morning-I can't be that guy. I won't be that guy."

She shifts her feet, looks down so she doesn't cry. "Thank you."

"Don't _thank_ me, Jesus Christ," he mutters, and then he says, _oh fuck_ , and turns the volume of the tv up.

A weather girl is standing in front of a map of New Mexico, explaining that the area is experiencing a freak flash flood and major highways have been shut down.

"What does that mean?" Lux asks Dean.

He glares at the weather girl like she's personally offended him. "It means we're stuck here until they open up the highways."

"Oh," Lux whispers, still stuck halfway across the room from him.

He frowns. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

She shakes her head rapidly, because what choice does she have?

He runs his fingers through his hair. "You afraid of me?"

"No," she lies.

"It's okay," he says, very gently. "I'd understand if you were."

She shivers and wraps her arms around herself. "I don't want to be afraid of you."

He starts walking towards her, slow, heel to toe. "I know you don't."

She resists the impulse to run, forces herself to stand her ground. He has his hands held out, in supplication maybe, or he just doesn't want to scare her. Her pulse trips as he gets closer, stopping when he's a foot in front of her.

"Hey," he says, in a low voice that makes her bones ache. "You okay?"

She manages to shrug, eyes full of tears, looking down at her bare feet. She doesn't want to feel like this, like her whole body is buzzing with danger. She wants to feel like she did last night, safe with him, protected.

"Hey, look at me," he whispers.

She lifts her head (why does she still do it, obey every command of his?) and her tears spill over.

"Lux," he says, sounding pained, reaching out like he wants to hold her. "It's okay. You're okay."

She chokes back a sob. "You _scared_ me."

Dean looks awful, like he feels sick with guilt. "I know."

She shudders, rubbing tears out of her eyes. "I thought you left me."

His restraint breaks, he closes the space between them and pulls her against his chest. She crumples, face pressed into his chest, closes her eyes against his familiar warmth.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, and she jerks in his arms, the last person who called her baby was her _dad_ , and he tightens his grip on her.

She can't talk, she just holds onto him, lets him apologize, tell her it's going to be okay. The words sound like beautiful lies rolling off his tongue and she doesn't stop him, she lets him hold her until she stops shaking.

Lux doesn't believe anything he says but right now, in his arms, it almost doesn't matter.

/

After Lux calms down he gets her set up with a movie (The Little Mermaid, of which she is instantly enraptured) and goes downstairs and rents their room for another night.

Outside the sky is a sickly grey-green, hail the size of golf balls coming down. Dean stares up at the sky in wonder for a moment; it feels biblical, hell, it feels _appropriate_.

Like an act of God; like a punishment.

Shudders, remembering the look she gave him when he'd woken her up under her curse, betrayal and terror warring across her face.

He's supposed to save the princess, not royally fuck her up. He's probably the only person she even halfway trusts and he's screwed that up to all hell. The cement tilts under his feet and he reaches out blindly to regain some semblance of balance, fingers scraping against a brick wall.

He stares up at the sky, hail pounding around him in tandem with his guilt. He whispers _Cas_ , but there is no brush of feathers, no thin cotton trench whipping in the wind.

There's just Dean and the dark sky, the empty street, and his failure, bitter and broiling under his skin.

He flips his sweatshirt hood, gives up and runs halfway down the block to a deli.

He buys bagels and cream cheese, turkey sandwiches on thick slices of wholewheat bread, orange juice, and a thirty-two ounce cup of coffee, which he doses with whisky from his flask as soon as he's back outside.

Lux is right where he left her in the motel room when he comes back, curled up on the bed humming along to Part Of Your World. He sits down next to her and to his relief she doesn't freak out, glancing at the grocery bag with mild curiosity.

"I brought breakfast."

She eyes him warily. "I'm not hungry."

He weighs pushing her to eat with respecting her boundaries. The fact that she's even talking to him right now feels like more than he deserves. He puts a bagel on a paper plate and passes it to her. "If you change your mind."

Sam calls after The Little Mermaid ends, the channel immediately cycling into Aladdin. Dean takes the phone into the bathroom along with his whiskey-laden coffee.

"Hey," he answers, sitting down on the floor and leaning back against the door.

"I found your symbol," Sam says without preamble. "I was right, it's not actually a symbol, it's a word."

"Well?" Dean says expectantly.

Sam makes a frustrated noise. "Well that's where it gets a little weird. The word is Sanskrit."

"You know what it means?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "It means love."

Dean crinkles his nose. "Love?"

He has the word _love_ tattooed on his chest for the rest of eternity now? That's just fucking great. He traces the new tattoo with one finger, a subtle throbbing ache where the needle broke the skin open.

"There are a few different interpretations, though," Sam explains. "It might mean love as a form of devotion, or worship, or deep romantic love, it seems to depend on the context."

"I don't get it," Dean complains. "What does that have to do with lust?"

"Exactly," Sam says grimly.

"Well that's no help."

"I'll keep looking into it," Sam says. "When do you think you'll get here? Tomorrow?"

"No," he says shortly. "We got held up."

"Held up how?" Sam asks suspiciously. "Dean, where are you?"

"New Mexico," he admits.

"You're not even in Texas? Dean, what're you doing?"

"Currently? Watching a Disney princess marathon."

Sam snorts. "Yeah, okay. Whatever man."

"Who do you think is hotter, Ariel or Jasmine?" Dean asks idly. The coffee is getting him both alert and buzzed, a lovely combination.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"Personally I'd go with Jasmine," he muses. "Ariel's got that cute little seashell bra but Jasmine's so exotic, you know? Like, her hips in those see-through pant things. Damn."

There's a pause, and then Sam says cautiously, "How worried should I be?"

"About what?"

"About you and her. The girl."

Dean remembers earlier that morning, Lux under his body and how fragile she was, how easy he could've crushed her. Those white wrists shaking in his hands.

"Everything's fine," he says hoarsely. "Quit worrying."

"Dean-"

"Drop it Sam," he growls.

"Fine, whatever," Sam snaps. "I have to go, Emma's picking me up."

"Emma? Who the hell's Emma?" Dean demands.

"No one, just some girl I met at the library."

"Just some girl you're apparently going out with."

"It's lunch," Sam says lightly.

Dean's chuckling. "Good for you, Sammy."

"She's just a friend."

He snorts. "Whatever you say."

"I'm hanging up now, Dean."

"Enjoy your date," he snickers.

"Dick," he hears Sam mutter, and then he hangs up.

/

Dean lets her watch princess movies all day long and he doesn't even complain once. His guilt is a heavy thing that blankets the room and Lux doesn't know what to say, how to absolve him.

It's not that she's afraid of him, exactly. She understands that it wasn't really him, it was the curse, and she understands _that_ intimately well. She can't blame him for not being able to resist an unbreakable curse.

It's more that she's just aware now, of how dangerous he is, how he could snap her neck in one easy twist. If he wanted to.

Something has happened, some kind of subtle shift of power between them. Like he's shown her the darkest part of his nature against his will and it has made him vulnerable to her in his total loss of control.

It endears him to her in a way that she can't explain. She's been hurt in every way imaginable but she's never seen anyone show remorse for it before. It makes her feel strangely upside-down, like she should be offering _him_ comfort, for what he did, for what her curse made him do.

He doesn't say much but there's something tender in the way he treats her, like he's afraid she'll shatter if he looks at her the wrong way. Like he has no idea, what it takes to really scare her now.

She wishes she could go back to yesterday, or six years ago, ten years ago - but then she wouldn't have met Dean.

The revelation frightens her. She's only known him for a few days, she woke up to him attacking her. He shouldn't matter to her, she can't let him matter.

She should hate him.

She should hate him, but she can't bring herself to, not even a little bit.

/

That night he dreams of Ruby of all people (if one can consider Ruby a person, which he definitely does not).

Ruby, riding the body of the first girl he met her in, all dirty blond hair and sharp cheekbones, and that body is riding him. She sways over him, classic Ruby smirk on her face, but she feels all wrong, shivery cold instead of warm.

In his dream he keeps trying to touch her but when he does his fingers burn from the chill.

"Please," he keeps telling her, over and over, but she ignores him and rolls her hips. He reaches for her but she's like ice, and he gasps.

"Silly boy," she whispers, not completely cruelly. "You really think you deserve more than this?"

She leans in and gives him a wicked smile, and then she starts to scream.

Dean sits up in the dark, one hand on his gun, before he remembers that Ruby's dead and realizes the screaming is coming from Lux.

He drops the gun and leans over her in bed; she's curled up in the fetal position screaming like she's being eaten alive. He slaps his hand over her mouth to quiet her before someone calls the cops, her skin hot to the touch under his palm.

She flails at the contact and he pushes her down on the mattress, just enough to keep her from kneeing him in a few critical places. "It's me," he whispers. "It's okay, you were dreaming."

She goes soft under him, inhaling hard against his hand. Her back is pressed up against his chest and he can feel all the bones of her spine, feel her shivering like there's a living thing inside her trying to fight its way out.

"I'm gonna let go now," he tells her. "Don't scream, okay?"

She nods in understanding and he slowly peels his hand off her mouth. She gasps for air, fingers digging into the mattress. She's sweaty, her long hair is heavy and matted to the back of her neck.

He loosens his hold on her but she doesn't try to get away. He stretches out, feels her shudder against his chest every time she tries to take a breath.

"Hey," he murmurs, because of course she had a nightmare, because he screwed everything up. His new tattoo throbs. "Breathe, you're alright."

He slides his hand up tentatively to cup her shoulder. Her skin feels clammy. She's not crying but her eyes are wide open and all her limbs are rigid with tension. She looks frozen, like an animal, paralyzed with fear, taking loud shallow breathes.

He vaguely remembers a case his dad looked into, back when he was a teenager. Something about kids having night terrors, but he can't remember why, or if Dad even solved it.

"Lux, you gotta calm down," he whispers. "You're gonna hyperventilate."

"I c-can't," she wheezes, and her head rolls back onto his shoulder.

"Alright, come on," he mutters, because if she has a panic attack right now he's not sure if he can handle it. Sex is something he participates in with pleasure, cuddling is cool (not that he'd ever admit it), even comfort he can do, but this is different, this is holding a bunch of broken pieces of a person together in his bare hands and trying not to get cut or drop the whole thing altogether.

He slides an arm around her, pulls them both up so he's leaning back against the headboard with her in between his legs. "We're gonna calm down, okay?"

He wraps both arms around her, loose enough for her to break his hold if she wants to. He takes a deep inhale and exhales slowly, so she can feel him.

She digs her fingers into his thighs, struggling to match his rhythm. "Dean," she slurs, and gasps, exhales too fast and gasps again.

"Slow," he coaches. "You're okay, I got you. Just calm down."

"Sorry," she grinds out, her head lolling back against his chest. "Please, Dean."

"Shh, it's okay."' He rocks her back and forth a little, like she's a little girl. "You're okay."

It takes her a few minutes but she gets her breathing under control, matching his until they're breathing in unison.

"There you go." He stretches out a little so he's lying down, Lux curled up against his chest, legs tangled in his. "Good job."

She sighs heavily, turning to bury her face in his chest. "I'm scared," she whispers, her words muffled.

"I know, baby," he whispers.

He doesn't know why he says it, why it feels right to use a word he reserves for his car ( _home_ ) and rarely, occasionally, Sam, for Lux. A word for something beloved.

They lie there like that for a long time, awake, her little gasps and sighs the only sound in the room. It's strangely peaceful, in bed with her like this, her cheek resting against the side of his shoulder like it was perfectly designed to fit right there.

It's intimate, her bare legs curled around his, one of his hands splayed low on her back and the other stroking her hair. They're acting like lovers, Dean realizes, without the sex, but instead of feeling completely freaked out all he feels is a peaceful resignation.

Like he's just too tired to fight it anymore, whatever it is, between the two of them. Whatever the thing is that makes his heart ache when he thinks about her in pain, makes him call her _baby_.

And maybe a tiny part of it is the idea of a different Lux, a free Lux, a Lux who wants him.

Dean's never been good at resisting pretty girls who want him. It's not a fatal flaw but it's a weakness, he just can't help himself. Can't make himself not want her.

How can he resist a girl (a girl he pinned to this very mattress, a girl more breakable than glass) with wide blue eyes (bluer than Mom, bluer than Cas) who looks at him like he is the single most important thing, the only thing, in her universe?

Did Cas know this about him, when he brought her to Dean? And another layer deeper, 'cus it's not paranoia if you're really being followed: did he _orchestrate_ this?

"Dean," she says softly. "What are we going to do?"

He looks down at her, her little elfin face, big eyes luminous in the moonlight coming in from the window. He can tell she doesn't just mean the curse. She means _this_ , their unexplainable, tenuous connection, their entangled destinies.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispers. "Everything's going to be okay."

She presses her face into the hollow of his throat. "What if it's not?"

"Then I'll take care of you," he vows, because Dean understands the rules - duty over impulse, honor over desire, the will of the divine over the will of the individual.

He's his father's son through and through, whatever that's worth. He's been tasked by an angel to protect her and until his orders change that's what he's going to do.


	6. my girl, linen and curls

In the morning the highways open and Dean and Lux fly into Texas like there's a demon on their tail.

They're both exhausted, neither of them slept much after she woke them up in the middle of the night. They bolted as soon as they could, threw their stuff in Baby's trunk and hit the road. She seemed just as eager as him to get out of that room, away from everything that happened in it.

He feels better back in the car, feels that pull towards Sam as the miles tick by on the odometer. They stop at the first gas station they pass, he gets a large coffee, fatigue a subtle ache in his temples. Lux follows him around with the back of his shirt in her fist, like he's on a leash. At some prompting she picks out a container of cubed fruit and a granola bar for breakfast. She hides her face in his back when he pays, like if she can't see anyone they don't exist.

The weird thing is it seems to work, no one else inside the gas station even looks at her and suddenly he wonders if eye contact is part of it, or proximity, feeling beyond idiotic that he hadn't even considered the parameters of the curse.

He still feels guilt deep in his stomach every time he looks at her. Like her face triggers a backlog of girls, the ones he didn't save, the girls that haunt him the most.

They don't talk about it, what happened, what he did to her, because he doesn't want to and she doesn't bring it up. She's back to the obedient child act; sitting silently in the car, braiding and unbraiding her hair, face masked by her sunglasses.

And then out of nowhere she asks, very softly, "Can we go do something?"

"Can we what?"

She shifts in her seat, looking a little embarrassed. "I don't know. I just want to like, take a break."

"Take a break," he repeats dumbly.

"Yeah."

"From driving to New Orleans where we're going to break the curse?"

"I told you, you can't break it."

He frowns at that. "I know you've said that, but how do you know?"

"Um..." She twists a strand of hair around her finger. "I tried once. She couldn't do it."

He raises an impressed eyebrow. It takes balls to ask a witch for help. In his experience they take much more pleasure in causing mayhem. "When was this?"

"When I was fifteen."

"So what happened?"

"I told you," she whines. "It didn't work."

"Lux-"

"One of the girls there used to practice," she says stiffly. "She tried to make a counter-curse. It took us months to sneak all the ingredients. It didn't work."

"You mean one of the girls you were with before?" he ventures. Before meaning with them, the people that let men tear her apart.

She nods. "We roomed together for awhile."

"Hey, you said you were cursed when you were twelve, right?"

"Mm-hm."

"So when did you get into the organization?"

She's curled up on the seat, looking very small. "The same time."

"Jesus Christ," he swears.

"It's okay," she whispers. "Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, I'm..." Disgusted, horrified, furious. "So what do you want to do?"

"Huh?"

"You said you wanted to do something, want to do you want to do?"

She gives him a hopeful smile. "Really?"

"Well what's the point of being jail-breaked if you can't have a little fun?" he says lightly.

He gets off at the next exit and drives around for awhile until Lux sits up in her seat, pointing excitedly at a sign. "Look Dean, a zoo!"

He snorts in derision. "You wanna go to a zoo?"

She gives him a wide eyed, pleading look. "Can we? Please?"

He rolls his eyes but turns on the next road to follow the sign. "We really gotta work on your concept of teenage rebellion."

"Huh?"

"I don't know, fun for a normal teenager would be like, getting plastered at a bar or spending all my money at the mall."

"We weren't allowed to go outside," Lux says softly. "Or watch tv, or pick out our own clothes. Or food. I'm already breaking so many rules."

He's starting to understand why she seems so childlike sometimes. The girl never had a chance to grow up; she was thrown to the lions before she even turned thirteen. Didn't get to go to high school, make friends, learn to drive, go to prom, missed out on every teenage experience.

"How about we take the day?" he suggests, because he can't refuse her, not now.

Not after what he did to her. What they did to her, when she really was a child. Like it matters, like giving her one good day can burn off his bad karma, balance out his scale of failures.

Lux is looking at him like she can't believe what he's saying. "A whole day at the zoo?" she asks in awe.

"No, like a Lux day. Take a break." He sees the entrance to the parking lot of the zoo, signals and turns into a parking space.

"Really?" Like she can't believe it. "A whole day?"

"Yeah, what the hell." He shrugs, because why not? Why not give her this one thing, one day, to feel normal? To know what it feels like to be free.

She surprises him by unbuckling her seatbelt and flinging herself at him, her arms winding around his neck. "Thank you Dean, thank you!"

He pats her back awkwardly. He sucks at this, doesn't know how to act when girls thank him for acting like a decent human being, like they would've settled for so much worse, like he's surprised them.

It's another blazing hot day, he grabs a pair of wayfarers from the glove box and watches Lux copy him, take her red sunglasses and slide them over her face. She's wearing a dove grey tee shirt today and the same denim cut-offs.

"Sunscreen," he instructs. They stand in the parking lot together while she slathers lotion over her exposed arms and legs. He looks around anxiously but the parking lot is filled with families, too seemingly occupied with crying toddlers and setting up strollers to notice them.

"Don't forget your face," he reminds her, and is punished by watching her slowly rub it into her cheeks, eyes shut in single minded concentration.

She blinks up at him, sunglasses pushed up into her hair. She looks a hell of a lot younger than eighteen. Like a girl untouched, perfect and pale, hair curling away from her face, a smear of white across one cheek. "Did I get it all?"

He reaches out and cups her cheek, rubs the sunscreen into her skin with his thumb. She sighs and nuzzles into his palm. It triggers a feeling he doesn't like, something light and fluttering in his chest, like his new tattoo is trying to fly off his skin.

He pays for them both at the entrance and Lux slips her hand in his, tugging on his arm to drag him to look at the lions. It's cute, like a bunch of animals sleeping lazily on rocks is exciting to her. It's nice though, watching how relaxed she is, knowing in some way he's giving her a little peace. Next they see the elephants and agree that they're awesome even though they don't really do anything other than stand around and do cool things with their trunks. They stand on their tiptoes at the edge of the tiger pen and pretend to growl at them, go into a cool underground tunnel and watch penguins flip around in a pool.

Lux waves at the penguins as they swim by, her nose pressed to the glass. "Hi little guy," she coos, making a delighted little squeal that's almost sickeningly cute. "Hi little penguins!"

He can't help but grin, sling one arm lazily across her shoulders. "You having fun?"

She tilts her head up at him, light eyes almost glowing in the dim lighting. He feels like he's really in a cave, a secret wonderland, an alternate universe, on a date with a pretty girl looking at him like he's the best thing that's ever happened to her.

She giggles and he notices for the first time she has a dimple in one cheek. "They're so cute! Dean, aren't they cute?"

"Yeah," he concedes. "They're pretty cute."

They see the monkeys after she says goodbye to all the penguins, hanging around in a set of trees beyond iron bars. He thinks they're more entertaining than the other animals but Lux looks pensive, her hands wrapped around the bars.

"Hey," he says softly, nudging her shoulder with his own. "You not like monkeys or something?"

"They're in a cage," she says softly.

"Yeah, that's kinda the whole point of a zoo."

"Nothing should have to live in a cage," she says, and he finally figures out she's not talking about the monkeys.

"They do that to you?" he asks quietly. "Lock you up?"

"A few times." She says it so flatly it takes a minute for the words to register.

He glances sideways at her, that familiar sickening feeling when she says something horrific without even realizing it. She's looking straight ahead, expression hidden under her sunglasses. "What'd you do?"

"I went over my target weight by three pounds once." Her cheeks flood with color like she's embarrassed. "They locked me up for three days."

He stares. "Three _days_?"

"A day per pound. After that I was more careful. I made sure I was always below my target."

"Hey." He reaches out and unwraps her hands from the bars, puts them between his. "You know you don't have to do that anymore, right?"

She gives him an uneasy look. "I know."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do you believe me?"

She flinches. "I don't know."

He puts his arms around her and she tucks her head under his chin, does that thing where she hides her face in his neck.

"Listen," he says, softly, for her. "This is only going to work if you trust me."

She sighs and tilts her head back. "You got a tattoo for me."

He nods. "I did."

"Because you don't want to hurt me?" Her voice is so small, like she's afraid to even hope that what she's saying is really true.

He leans down and rests his forehead against hers, thinking of a different promise he made, to someone else, a long time ago. His vow to care for her, always. "Never."

She reaches up, very hesitant, and runs her thumb along his shoulder. For a second he thinks he's gone too far, spooked her, and then she says, "Let's go eat lunch."

/

He takes her to a cafe in the zoo that's by a little man-made lake. They eat outside at a two top surrounded by families with shrieking little kids, frenetic energy all around them but no one gives her trouble, and Dean's sitting close enough for her to touch.

If she wanted.

He's leaned back in his chair, a frosty glass of beer in one hand. Eyes half-shut, head tilted up toward the sky, looking as much at peace as he ever does.

Lux didn't know before, that men could be beautiful. But he is, she wants to trace the line of his jaw, run her fingers through his hair, press her cheek into that perfect spot between his shoulder and his chest that feels like it was made just for her. She's never been curious about a guy before, not like that, about someone who's supposed to represent power and pain and terror. But he's different. He feeds her, he talks to her like she's a real person, makes her frozen heart ache and stretch like it's thawing in the center.

He ordered a lemonade for her when the waiter came, along with his beer. It's cold on her tongue, sweet and tangy. She takes another sip, watching the way the light plays with his face, highlights freckles and lights up gold in his hair.

Does he feel this way when he looks at her too, like something is fluttering inside his chest?

"Hey Dean?" she asks, and is rewarded by him sitting straight up and giving her a warm smile.

"What's up kid?"

She flushes a little at the nickname. It's a little embarrassing, like he thinks she's a baby. But it also makes her feel secretly special, that he likes her enough to give her one.

"What do you do?" she asks, because she's curious, because she's spent three and a half days straight with him, slept in the same bed as him, but she knows next to nothing about him.

He traces one finger around the rim of his glass. "I do this."

She frowns. "Drive girls around?"

He barks out a laugh. "Only if you count my brother. No, this is my job, I help people with problems like this."

She stares at him in shock. "People like me?"

He nods. "Yeah, me and Sam. We help people with special problems."

"Special?"

He looks around and when he realizes no one is paying any attention to them he says, "Supernatural."

"Like curses."

"Sure," he says. "Curses, ghosts, vampires, spells gone wrong..."

She can't look away from him as he goes on and on, cheeks hot, a strange buzz in her ears. She bends down and presses her forehead to the cool glass of the table.

"Shit, kid, I'm sorry." His arms goes around her back and coaxes her to lean out of her chair and into him. "I didn't mean to just drop it all on you like that."

She closes her eyes, savors the feeling on him solid and real against her chest, worn cotton under her cheek, the smell of soap and leather sharp in her nose. "I'm okay."

"I'm really sorry." His fingers comb through her hair, pushing it away from her face and she's frozen, his lips are only inches from his, why does she even notice, since when does she care about his lips?

"Dean," she breathes, her voice lilting up like she's asking a question. For one moment she swears, he's going to kiss her, and then his eyes widen and he pulls away, gives the waiter a frozen smile when he brings their food and requests another beer.

"Can I try something?" he asks, leaning back at his chair and popping a French fry into his mouth.

"Like what?" she says, hesitant, looking down nervously at her plate.

"Take your sunglasses off."

"Why?"

"I told you, I'm trying something."

She huffs, a little nervous, because he's being weird, but she does as she asks, pushes them up into her hair. Dean pushes his chair closer to her, eyes looking towards the inside of the cafe.

"Dean?"

"Wait," he says softly.

They sit like that for another minute and then the waiter comes back out with his beer. She suddenly understands, when she sees the waiter's eyes slide over to her and glaze over, he actually stumbles, fingers slipping and just catching the drink.

"Dean?" she asks again, panic tight in the back of her throat; what is he doing?

"Wait," he murmurs, and then his hand is on her thigh, warm and heavy. "Just wait."

She sits like that, held under his hand, watching his other hand curl around his fork. He waits until the waiter is a foot away, practically drooling with lust, and then he says, "Okay, put them back on."

Lux pushes her sunglasses down and watches, mouth open, as the waiter straightens out, sets down the beer in front of Dean with a bob of his head. His gaze lingers at her, a look on his face that's disgustingly predatory, but then he turns and goes over to another table in his section.

"Eye contact," Dean breathes. "Unbelievable."

"I had no idea," she mumbles, shocked. How could there be a loophole like that, how could she not know?

Dean's grinning, looking smug and proud of himself. "Not so unbreakable now, ha!" He drops his fork onto his plate and slaps the table.

"Dean," she hisses, but she's starting to smile too.

"See, there's always a way kid," he says wisely. "We're gonna find a way."

His hand is still in her leg.

/

Sam calls while Lux is in the bathroom by the entrance. Dean sits in the curb outside the bathrooms, pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket.

"Please tell me you're in Texas," Sam says when he picks up.

"I'm in Texas."

There's an audible sigh of relief. "Think you'll be here by tonight?"

"Maybe tomorrow night," he hedges.

"Dean, are you seriously telling me it's going to take you five days to drive from Tucson to New Orleans?"

"It takes longer when I'm the only one who can drive," he snaps.

"Dean, just tell me what's going on." Sam's using his impatient, _I know you're not telling me the whole truth_ voice.

"Nothing's going on Sam, we're just taking a break, okay?"

There's a pause, and then Sam splutters, "A _what?_ "

"We're at the zoo, did Dad ever take us to the zoo? Or like, any child-appropriate places? Ever?"

"Dean, she's a _case_."

"I'm aware of that, Sammy."

"You can't just decide to take a vacation with a _client_."

"Jesus Sam, its just the zoo, it's not like I'm running away with her. Don't be so dramatic, princess."

"Dean." Sam sounds genuinely freaked out now. "How do you know that you're not under it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I know you said Cas gave you that word but how do you know it really works? What if she-"

"I'm not under any curse Sam, aren't I allowed a few hours to walk around and see a fucking monkey if I want to?"

"But Dean, how do you _know?_ "

"Trust me," he says gruffly. "I'd know."

"What does that mean?"

"Look Sam I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow." He hangs up before Sam can say goodbye.

"Dean?" Lux is standing in front of him, looking nervous. "Is everything okay?"

He pulls himself off the curb, noticing how she instantly steps into him, slipping her shoulder under his arm. He scared her a little back there, with the waiter, but he had to, had to find out. Wouldn't have let anything happen to her.

"Everything's fine," he tells her. "Hey, they have a butterfly exhibit, you wanna check it out before we go?"

Lux smiles. "I love butterflies."

The butterflies are inside a large greenhouse. The humidity instantly increases once they're inside: there're plants and flowers everywhere, along the walls, hanging down from the ceilings. And butterflies: monarchs and swallowtails, butterflies in every shade of blue and yellow. Lux gasps, her hands flying to her mouth in surprise as she takes it all in, turning around in a slow circle, head tilted up towards the ceiling.

"Oh my god," she whispers. "Wow. Dean, wow."

"Yeah," he agrees, because there's something about the energy in here, something _more_ , like the air is charged, he can almost smell the difference. It's a feeling he associates with something other, something like holiness, a strange sixth sense that he associates with magic and Cas.

"Dean," she says softly. "Dean, look."

She points above her head and he sees monarchs, tons of them, circling a few feet above her head, like a living crown. He stares at her, that lithe little body, blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders, chin tilted up to the swirl of butterflies over her.

All he can do is stand and look at her in awe, thinks again of his part-fairie theory, the butterflies seem to think she's a familiar at least.

After awhile she giggles and slips her hand in his. "Come on, let's see the rest."

They walk through the rest of the exhibit, the monarchs trailing behind them the whole way through. Then they walk back out in the sunlight, squinting behind their sunglasses, her hand dangling loosely in his.

They're almost to the parking lot when he sees the ice cream stand, set back a bit by some trees and a picnic bench. "Come on," he says, tilting his head towards it. "When was the last time you had ice cream?"

She shrugs, her expression pensive. "I don't remember."

He grins. "You're getting chocolate."

The best part is when she take her first bite, tongue curling over the edge of her spoon. Her head falls back, white throat exposed to him. He feels like a predator, watching the thin blue veins under her skin, his tattoo beating against his chest like a second heart.

"Oh my god," she groans. "That's so good."

He chuckles, a little lightheaded from the heat, and takes a bite of his cherry chocolate chunk. She slides a little next to him on the park bench, swirling her spoon around in the ice cream.

"I forgot what it tasted like," she sighs, sounding a little shocked. "It was such a long time ago. Remembering everything- I couldn't do that, and be there. I had to shut it all out."

"You learned to adapt," he acknowledges. "You did what you had to do to survive."

"After awhile I guess I forgot." She sound sad.

"About ice cream?"

She shakes her head. "The world."

"I know you've been a little out of the loop, but trust me, you haven't missed much lately," he says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Lux gives him a tentative smile. "But there's ice cream out here."

He smiles. "There is that."

When they finish he takes their empty cups and tosses them in the trash a few feet away. Lux is looking over at the parking lot, and when he follows her gaze he sees a teenage boy sitting on the hood of a Jeep, a teenage girl between his legs. Even from here Dean can see it's a total puppy love situation, the girl has her head craned back to give the guy adoring looks between little nibbling kisses. They're so cute it makes him feel a little sick.

Lux jumps up from the bench, one hand surreptitiously swiping under her sunglasses, like she's wiping her eyes. "Can we go now, please?"

"Hey, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she says softly, and gives him a little smile that looks too forced to be real.

"Lux."

She glances back at the lovebirds sitting on the Jeep and shrugs half-heartedly. "It's stupid."

"Hey." He reaches down and curls his fingers over her wrist, so breakable in his hand, he tightens his grip involuntarily. "Tell me."

She inhales, looking down at her feet. "No one's ever kissed me before."

"Never?" he asks in disbelief.

A single tear rolls down her cheek. "Not like that."

He understands then. She means something real, something pure, a kiss born out of kindness, innocence. Something like those butterflies, light and fluttering and beautiful.

He reaches out with his free hand and slowly pushes her sunglasses up into her hair. Her eyes flick up to his, tear-filled oceans he could drown in.

"Dean?" she questions, her voice shaking.

So careful, _don't scare her_ , he cups her jaw, brushes the tear away with his thumb, angles her head back. He leans in, slow, slow, giving her plenty of time to pull away or hit him or scream.

But she doesn't, she stands there, her pulse jack hammering against his fingers, lips slightly parted, pupils blown. He gets an inch away from her, waiting for her to panic and freak out at him.

She doesn't.

She makes a noise, this quiet, back-of-her-throat sound, like a moan, and something inside him tears loose, makes his tattoo flutter and burn against his skin and all he can see is her eyes, full of pain and wonder, and he has to, has to press his lips against hers.

She gasps, somehow his bottom lip gets pulled between her teeth, _Jesus_ , and for a couple of seconds it's like blacking out, all of his senses shutting down except for touch. There's only her mouth pressed against his, the soft skin of her cheek, her body melting against him.

He pulls away very slowly, watching her watch him, looking stunned.

"Why did you you do that?" she breathes.

His hand slides down from her jaw to her shoulder, feeling the slightest shudder run through her at his touch. "Because you deserve a real first kiss."


	7. and just to lay with you, there's nothing that I wouldn't do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the update took so long! I have a few WIP's going at the moment and got in a bit over my head. Happy reading ;)

Lux gets quieter the closer they get to New Orleans.

Dean watches her out of the corner of his eye as he drives, sees her curl up tighter in the passenger seat as the miles burn away under the tires. They haven't talked much since yesterday, since he kissed her. He actually feels his cheeks heat up when he thinks about it, like _he's_ the fucking girl.

He wishes he regrets it. He should regret it, he should hate himself, for doing that to her, but he just can't seem to muster up the effort.

Not that it seems like she minded, _shit_. He gets hard just thinking about it, those big eyes wide with shock, how pliable she was under him. That girl enfolded in a cloak of darkness and all he wanted to do was kiss it better.

"Hey," she asks softly, breaking the silence for the first time in two hours. "What's going to happen when we get there?"

"We'll meet up with Sam. He's been researching your curse."

"Researching?"

"Yeah, reading up on curses, looking for witches that might be willing to help hunters."

"What if he can't find one?"

He taps his knuckles against the steering wheel. "We'll find one."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, kid?"

She has her knees pulled to her chest, like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. "What happens if a witch can't do anything? What if it's really unbreakable?"

"Then we'll figure something out," he reassures her.

"Will he take me away?" she asks. "Your friend."

"I don't know," he realizes. "He hasn't exactly been available lately."

"He's not human, is he?" Her voice sounds numb.

"Uh, Cas is, well. He's special."

She frowns and turns her head to stare out the window. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"It's complicated."

"You think I wouldn't understand?" she questions.

He sighs. "I think you have enough to worry about."

They finally get there around dusk, everything glowing gold against the setting sun. Lux sits up in her seat, her palm pressed flat to the window as she takes it all in. Sam's staying in a not-at-all sleazy motel on the edge of the French quarter. Dean snorts to himself, wondering what poor dude is unknowingly footing the bill for this. He pulls the car around the back of the motel, which is kind of pretty, white walls and slate roofing, faux-French chateaux style.

He texts Sam and a few minutes later his brother comes out the back entrance, squinting against the setting sun and shoving his hair back with one hand.

"Is that him?" Lux sounds scared.

"Hey," he says quietly. "Everything's gonna be fine. You'll see."

She nods, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth.

He sighs to himself and shifts into park. "Just stay in the car until I tell you to come out."

She flinches, just enough for him to catch it. "Okay."

He gets out of the car, shuts the door and locks Lux inside. "Hey," he calls out, raising one hand up towards Sam.

"Dean." Sam's whole body relaxes, dumb big limbs loose as he gives him a half hug. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Dean stretches his neck. "Long drive."

Sam points his chin towards the Impala. "That her?"

"Yeah, hey, gimme your hand." He pulls a Sharpie out of his pocket and drawls on the back of Sam's hand from memory.

"So," Sam says. "Do you want to get another room for you guys?"

Dean balks. "What?"

"Sorry." Sam looks uncomfortable. "I just assumed-"

"Jesus Sam, I told you, nothing is going on."

"So is that a no, or?"

"We never stay in separate rooms," Dean comments.

"Yeah, well we never go on vacation with a girl who's a client," Sam shoots back.

"Oh relax, it was one day," he sneers.

"Where is she going to sleep?"

"We can get a cot," Dean reasons. "She's little."

"And what happened after we get the curse lifted?"

"Christ, why does everyone keep asking me that? It's not my plan, okay, I don't know!"

"So you haven't seen Cas lately?" Sam intuits.

"No, he just dumped her on me, gave me the magic word and dipped."

Sam shakes his head. "Angels."

Dean snorts. "Preaching to the choir, Sam."

He walks back to the car and opens the passenger side door. Lux is sitting cross-legged, chewing on her bottom lip. "C'mon," he says, holding out a hand to her.

She climbs out of the car, hiding slightly behind him as he leads her over to Sam. Dean watches his brother's face for any indication that he feels the curse but Sam just smiles and gives Lux the puppy dog eyes.

"Lux, this is my brother, Sam. Sam, Lux."

"Hi." Sam holds his hand up in greeting, turning it so she can clearly see the Sanskrit Dean drew on.

"Hi," she says softly, and hides her face in Dean's shoulder like a shy toddler.

"It's okay," he whispers into her hair. "You can trust Sam."

"He's big," she whispers, like she's afraid of him.

"Yeah." Dean grins over her shoulder at Sam. "He's just a big dumb teddy bear."

Sam shoots him a look that clearly says _dude, what the fuck?_ and Dean can't help but laugh a little at his expense.

/

Dean's brother is huge, insanely tall, hands big enough to ring around her thighs. He's nice though, like Dean said, big friendly smile on his face as he easily carries all their bags up two flights of stairs to his motel room. It's big enough for two double beds, an armchair in one corner, and a tv in an armoire.

"Dean?" Lux asks quietly. Last night they slept in separate beds, which was strange after two days of sleeping in one together but neither of them mentioned it, the way they haven't talked about the kiss either.

"We'll call down for a cot." His hand is splayed over the small of her back, where Sam can't see, a steady point of contact for her to lean into.

She thinks about yesterday, his hand on her face, lips warm and solid against hers and how it made her entire body warm, stirred up a phantom desire she thought had been beaten out of her years ago.

It made her _want_.

"I need to go on a beer run," Sam announces, looking pointedly at Dean. "Come with me?"

"Yeah, okay." Dean pushes his hand through his hair and gives her a tight smile. "Will you be okay for a little while?"

She nods and glances at Sam, who looks a little impatient, and stands on tiptoe to whisper in Dean's ear. "Am I allowed to watch tv?"

He chuckles and nods, turns around and hands the remote to her. "Keep it clean, though, okay?"

"Dean!" she exclaims, her cheeks flushing horribly.

He grins at her and she realizes it's because he's joking and something inside her lights up. He's even more beautiful like this, when he's smiling. "I'm just playing, kid. Lock the door behind us."

" _Dean_ ," she mock groans, because she knows it will make him laugh.

She's right, she can still hear him chuckling to himself after she locks the door behind them.

/

"Okay, what the hell was that?" Sam exclaims as soon as they're outside.

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "That was pretty much my first impression too."

"I mean, how old is she even?"

"Eighteen."

"Oh, bullshit," Sam declares.

"She said she's eighteen."

"Whatever," Sam sighs. "So what do you know about her?"

"What do you mean?"

Sam gives him a funny look. "She's a case, Dean. Where's she from, why was she cursed, what kind of magic? Seriously, what've you been doing for the last five days?"

"Look, it's complicated, okay? She doesn't like talking about it."

Sam looks exasperated in a way that grates on his nerves. "Again, what do you know about her?"

"She was twelve when she got cursed."

" _Twelve?_ " Sam sounds appropriately revolted.

"Yeah."

"And?" Sam prompts.

"And that's what I know."

"Dean."

"Sam."

Sam stops on the sidewalk, looking bewildered. "Seriously man, what the hell is going on?"

"Nothing," Dean grumbles. "Cas just showed up with her, told me I had to protect her. I'm protecting her, I'm doing him a favor, so what? What was I supposed to do? She's cursed Sam, she can't fucking function by herself-"

"Dean-"

"I've spent the past five days trying to protect her from getting raped, we weren't painting each other's nails and eating ice cream. Well, there was ice cream, but it hasn't exactly been a fucking picnic, alright?"

"Jesus, okay, I get it." Sam holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry I asked."

Dean pushes his fingers into the throbbing ache in his temples. "No. It's fine, I'm just - look I've been with a girl for five days straight, I'm kinda going crazy."

Sam smirks. "I thought that'd be like, your dream."

"Maybe if I was getting laid," he mutters.

Sam lifts a doubtful eyebrow. "You really didn't?"

"No, really, is it that hard to believe?" _Her white wrists in his hands, her voice begging him to stop._

"Well...kind of?" Sam gives him a good natured grin.

"She's only eighteen."

"She's not underage," Sam points out, he's clearly amused at the situation.

"Trust me dude, that's girl's not doing anything with any guy if she can help it."

Sam nods at that. "Because of the curse?"

He still remembers, the internal monologue whispering: _inside her, inside her _. "Is there a bakery around here? I want a beignet, when was the last time you had a beignet, Sammy?"__

__Sam huffs a little but ultimately chooses to ignore the blatant subject change. "I don't know. I was eleven. Maybe?"_ _

__"Alright." Dean grins and lightly elbows his brother. "Let's get some fucking beignets, man."_ _

__"And beer."_ _

__"And beer!"_ _

__"She'll be okay until we come back?" Sam questions, turning a hard left at the upcoming intersection._ _

__"Yeah, I showed her how to use the Beretta."_ _

__Sam rolls his eyes. "Only you, Dean."_ _

__"What? She needs to know how to defend herself. Trust me."_ _

__"But seriously," Sam says, pointing out the liquor store a few storefronts down. "What kind of name is Lux?"_ _

__Dean nods sagely. "Exactly."_ _

__/_ _

__Lux can't sleep that night. She curls up in the little cot wedged between the beds, her heart stuttering in her chest, every breath a searing knife of anxiety._ _

__Sam has a list of witches he showed to Dean in a dark booth of a barbecue joint earlier that night. She'd craned her head to look and Dean had folded up the paper and shoved it in his jacket pocket. She has no idea how Sam managed to find one witch, let alone five._ _

__She watches Dean in the darkness of the motel room. Flat on his back, hands at his side curled into loose fists, like he's ready to fight even in sleep. She follows the curve of his jaw in the moonlight; memorizes the planes of his face._ _

__Tomorrow they go to a witch, as many witches as they have to. Tomorrow they break the curse._ _

__Unless they don't._ _

__She shivers under the thin sheet, a thousand nightmares swirling in her head._ _

__What if they can't break it?_ _

__What if Dean decides to let her go?_ _

__What if the man (the not-a-man) takes her again?_ _

__What if he takes her back to them?_ _

__She presses her face into the pillow and swallows back tears. Dean promised he wouldn't leave her._ _

__He also promised he'd never hurt her, a little voice says, a voice that sounds like Mother._ _

__But it was the curse, she rationalizes, he didn't want to hurt her. But that doesn't mean he wants her, doesn't mean he wants to be stuck taking care of her._ _

__Why would he care about her, some used-up broken girl?_ _

__She reaches out past the four inch gap between the cot and Dean's bed and holds her hand just above his wrist-_ _

__Fingers clamp around her and she gasps as Dean's head snaps to the side and his eyes fly open. His expression softens almost instantly; he releases her hand and flips it over to touch his palm to hers._ _

__"Hey," he whispers. "Couldn't sleep?"_ _

__She shakes her head, unable to focus because his skin is warm against her hand and it's like traveling heat through her veins, warming every frozen part of her._ _

__He flips the covers wordlessly and when she doesn't move he curls his fingers at her, _come here_ , and she swings up onto the bed._ _

__"Hey, baby," he murmurs, and she melts, she can't help it, hearing the word does something to her deep inside. It triggers something raw in her, a feeling of being young, innocent, something precious._ _

__She curls into him. He's shirtless, only wearing a pair of sweatpants, like the first night she saw him. He's so warm and she's shivering with fear, lets out a shaky breath when she feels his hand thread through her hair._ _

__"Fuck," he mutters. "Why are you always so cold?" One of his hands slides underneath the thin cotton of her shirt and starts to rub in circles. "You worried about tomorrow?"_ _

__She nods, feeling her muscles soften under his touch, making her body shiver in a way that has nothing do with body temperature._ _

__"I meant what I said," he says quietly. "I'm not going to dump you on a fucking street corner if it doesn't work out, okay?"_ _

__"Okay," she whispers, because what else is she supposed to say? She lost control of her life a long time ago, she has no choice but to trust him._ _

__"You should get some sleep." His hand comes up to her face and pushes her hair behind her ear._ _

__"I don't know if I can," she admits._ _

__He cups the back of her head and instead of remembering his strength, how easily he could crack her skull open, she rests back against his weight, eyes on his lips. It happens almost in slow motion, his head tilts and his lips move down to hers in a ghost of a kiss._ _

__"Close your eyes," he whispers._ _

__She does what he says and maybe it's him, the solid weight of his body, comforting instead of scary, or the repetitive lull of his hand through her hair, but she falls right asleep._ _


	8. we both go down together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took a million years for an update! If you guys are still reading this let me know and I'll continue ;)

In the morning Sam is the only one who eats breakfast in the little diner attached to the hotel lobby. Dean drinks four mugs of coffee and doesn't share with Lux at all, which makes her pout, but he doesn't make her eat either, because her stomach is twisted tightly up in a knot and she couldn't eat if she tried. She taps nervously on the edge of the table with her fingertips until Dean gathers both her wrists in his left hand and pulls them down to rest in her lap.

If Sam thinks they're acting strangely he doesn't comment on it. He's kind of lovely, Lux realizes, calm and polite, a stark contrast to Dean's coiled energy. It only gets awkward when they all walk to the car and she and Sam both go to the passenger side door. He makes a little choking sound and whirls around to stare at Dean.

Dean scowls. "What, like I was going to make her ride in the back the whole time? I'm not a chauffeur!"

"Whatever," Sam mutters, but he still gives Lux a nice smile and insists she ride in the front with Dean. 

The first address they go to is a little ranch house that looks completely inconspicuous. Nothing seems strange until Dean, who is standing in front of her with Sam standing behind, stops on the sidewalk, hands held up in front of his face.

"God damnit," he mutters.

"What?" Lux whispers anxiously.

"Wards," he mutters.

"What?"

"Feel." He reaches behind and grabs her hand, pulls it up to push at the air-

Except it's not air, it's smooth and hard as glass. Luda watches with wide eyes as her hand presses against some invisible force.

"Forget it," Dean says to Sam. "Let's go to the next one."

The next three houses on Sam's list are dark and shuttered, locked up tight like their occupants knew they were coming. The three of them drive to the last address in silence, Lux curled up in a tight ball in the passenger seat and Dean's fingers clutching the steering wheel.

A woman answers the door. She's gorgeous, ebony skin and a cascade of tight black curls falling over her shoulders but her face is hard, a sharp wrinkle delineating the space between her eyebrows.

"Mariah Williams?" Sam asks hopefully.

"No," the woman replies, "hell no-"

"Please," Dean says, and shoves Lux in front of him like a human shield. "Ten minutes for her. Please."

The witch's eyes flick between Lux and Dean, forehead furrowed. "Fucking Winchesters," she mutters, but she steps back and lets them into her house. 

The three of them follow her down a narrow hallway, Dean in front of Lux and Sam behind her. The hallway opens up into a small den, the witch points to a small threadbare couch and instructs them to sit. They all comply and sit down wedged thigh to thigh, Lux bookended by each brother. 

Mariah sits down on the coffee table in front of them and looks directly at Lux. She's so stunningly beautiful that Lux gets lost staring at her, her high forehead and wide amber eyes. The witch holds her hand out to Lux as if to touch her and Lux curls back against Dean instinctively.

Mariah breaks eye contact. "This is just a consult, alright? I'm not making any promise."

"Alright," Sam agrees, before Dean can argue.

She folds her arms against her chest. "Consults ain't free."

Dean rolls his eyes but gets his wallet out, withdraws two twenties and slaps them on the table.

Mariah snorts. "Now you're just insulting me."

Dean peels three more twenties out his wallet and she snatches them, a pleased look on her face. "Baby girl," she says to Lux, "I don't know who you are but you must be special."

"Just get on with it," Dean mutters.

"A little gratitude wouldn't hurt your cause," Mariah rebukes, but she sticks the money in her cleavage and turns back to Lux. "I'm going to have to touch you."

Lux tilts her head to her right to look at Dean. He nods curtly in permission and Lux shifts back to the witch. "Okay."

Mariah grins and rubs her hands together. "Gotta get the juices flowing."

After a few minutes she exhales and slides forward to plant her feet on the floor and cups her hands over Lux's cheek. 

"Okay girl," she says. Her voice is low and melodious, soothing, Lux wants to curl herself up in it and go to sleep. "We're going on a little trip, you and I." She leans forward and presses their foreheads together. "It's better if you don't fight it."

Something rushes through Lux's body, electric, and her body flashes cold as a wave of panic overtakes her. She knows this feeling, the moment when you've committed to something and can't get out, can't escape, can't do anything but close your eyes and fall.

The only thing she can do is hold on and try not to throw up.

Lux doesn't know how long it lasts, color and sound overwhelming her in a nauseating blur, but it ends with Mariah pulling away from Lux like she's been burned, vaulting backwards off the table. Dean leaps up, hands out like he's waiting for her to attack them, leaving Lux adrift, curling into herself against the couch cushions. 

The witch scrubs her face with her hands. When she turns to Lux her face is pale and full of sorrow. "I'm sorry," she says, and Lux can tell by the heaviness in her voice that she really means it. "I can't help you."

"You can't do anything?" Dean's voice is sharp and rusty like barbed wire.

"Do you even know what it takes, to perform a curse of that caliber?" she retorts. "A curse that completely takes away free will? It's _vile_. I don't practice dark magic like that. I don't know what kind of mess you're in pretty boy, but I want nothing to do with it."

"Fine," Dean snaps. "Thanks for nothing." He motions for Sam and Lux to get up. "We're leaving."

Sam and Lux both rise and shuffle after Dean obediently but Lux turns impulsively and throws her arms around Mariah, pressing her face into the woman's collarbone, inhales jasmine and coconut.

The witch hugs her back gently, strokes her hair once and pushes her away. "Go on," she says tenderly. "You'll be alright." 

Like, you _have_ to be.

"Lux," Dean calls. He's standing with Sam in the hallway, his hand stretched out to her. "Lets go kid."

Lux turns and catches his hand with hers and follows obediently where he leads her.

/

It's the middle of the afternoon by the time they get back to the neighborhood where the motel is. Dean swings the Impala into a parking lot next to a deli and they all spill out of the car and shuffle inside, failure heavy in the air. Lux won't even look at him, just clutches the sleeve of his jacket while he buys three sandwiches on dense rye bread and bags of chips.

They sit in a booth in a corner, Lux on one side of the booth between Dean and the wall and Sam across from them. He's quiet, giving Dean little confused glances. Dean can tell Sam feels completely out of the loop and Dean doesn't have it in him to explain just how devastating the witch's verdict is.

Lux picks at her sandwich. Dean watches her peel off the crusts and dissect them into crumbs, pull the lettuce out and start shredding.

"Hey." He nudges her with his shoulder. "You need to eat that."

"I'm not hungry," she says sullenly.

Dean's head hurts. His new babysitting gig has just been extended indefinitely, possibly forever, and he is not in the mood for this. "I don't give a shit, you didn't eat breakfast."

"But I'm not _hungry_ ," she whines.

"Lux, shut up and eat your sandwich."

"I said no!" Lux shoves her plate away and it slides across the table, where it collides with Sam's and flips over with a loud clatter.

"This is not how we act in public," Dean hisses at her, totally appalled. 

She's always been so well behaved when they've been out together, even when she's been afraid. Dean thought he had her figured out, how to guide and gently manipulate her but it's like everything else in his life: as soon as he thinks he has control he realizes it's all an illusion.

Lux drops her head to her folded elbows and bursts into tears.

"Dean?" Sam says uncertainly.

"I don't want to go back!" Lux wails from behind her arms. "Don't send me back!"

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters. People are starting to stare at them. 

He gets his arms around her waist and pulls her across the booth and into his lap. She scrambles around to hide her face in his collar, skinny arms grabbing onto his jacket. Sam is staring, his lunch forgotten in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Lux sobs, her tears hot against his skin. "Please don't send me back, I'll be good, I promise!"

Dean fishes in his jacket pocket for his keys and tosses them to Sam. "Let's go." 

Sam nods and slides out of the booth, shooting him and Lux a worried look. "Dean" -

"Not now, Sam." Dean gets his hands under Lux's thighs and stands up from the booth, her legs wrapping around his waist as he gets her in a front piggyback and carries her out behind Sam. "Lux it's fine, just shut up, okay?"

She wails in response and Dean grips her harder, jaw locked. "I said be quiet, people are staring at us!"

Lux is inconsolable, her fingers digging into the back of his neck as she sobs against his chest. Everyone is watching them with judgmental expressions as they leaves. Dean feels thoroughly shamed, like he's a parent whose child is throwing a temper tantrum.

"No!" Lux cries when she sees the Impala. "I'm not going back, don't take me back!"

"I'm not taking you back," he tries to reassure her but she's not listening at all, shaking her head wildly from side to side like a wild animal and crying out like Dean is torturing her.

"Lux, if you don't calm down right now I'm putting you in time out!" Dean threatens.

 _Time out?_ Sam mouthes incredulously at him. Dean shrugs. "I'm open to suggestions, Sam."

"No!" Lux yells loudly and starts flailing in his grip, manages to nail him hard in the temple with her elbow.

"Damnit," Dean swears. "That's it! You are not being cool right now, you need to calm down. Open the car, Sam."

Sam raises a doubtful eyebrow but he unlocks the Impala for him and opens the door to the backseat.

Dean has to untangle Lux's fingers from his neck. She starts screaming when he puts her in the car, like he's sending her right back to _them_ , and Dean has to grab her kicking legs and push them into the car, slamming the door behind her and locking her in.

"Dean, what're you doing?" Sam is watching Lux throw herself facedown in the seats, yelling so loudly they can hear her even with the windows shut.

"Go buy a six pack of something, I'll calm her down," Dean mutters.

Sam runs a hand through his hair. "Dean we have to talk about this."

In the backseat Lux shrieks, her feet kicking against the door.

"Hey!" Dean raps on the window with his knuckles. "No kicking! You can come out when you've calmed down!"

"Dean!" Sam says impatiently. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"Just shut up!" Dean yells, temper breaking like a wave crashing against the shore. "Just be quiet and let me think for a minute!"

Sam backs up, eyes flicking between Dean and Lux, who's now laying prone across the backseat, halfheartedly kicking her feet but with no real force behind it.

"I just need to think," Deans says again.

"Okay," Sam says quietly. His hands come up to Dean's shoulders and guides him down to the curb in front of the car. 

Dean sinks against the pressure of Sam's hands, lets his baby brother guide his head down to his knees. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Okay."

"I don't need you to take care of me."

"I know," Sam says mildly.

"I'm just tired," he says weakly.

"Okay." Sam says again. "It's fine, Dean. Let's just sit for a minute."

Dean shuts his eyes, forehead pressed against his thighs and breathes, left temple aching where Lux hit him. It gets quiet after a minute, he can't even hear Lux crying anymore. 

Sam gets up and stretches out his legs, peers through the windshield of the Impala. "Wow, I think she actually cried herself to sleep."

Dean rubs his palms against his eyes. "She couldn't sleep last night, she was tired."

Sam gives Dean this look he absolutely hates, concern and curiosity wrapped up in soft sympathy. "Dean," he says softly. "What the hell did you get us into?"


	9. you, my soiled teenage girlfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I'm back! I really am sorry the updates have been so slow, I don't have a good excuse other than being kind of overwhelmed by life in general. I post as I write BUT i do have this whole fic outlined so it will continue to be updated, I just can't make any promises on how quickly. Thank you for the comments, they are really motivating! Enjoy Chapter 9 ;)

Lux is still asleep when they get back to the motel; Dean follows Sam up the stairs with Lux in his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Sam unlocks the door to their room and Dean pushes past him to lay Lux down on his bed. She whimpers and curls over into the fetal position but doesn't wake. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks so small, defenseless, her shoulder blades poking through the material of her shirt like wings. It makes Dean ache to look at her- the responsibility of this, another person for him to inevitably lose.

Sam pulls two beers out of the mini fridge and tilts his head towards the little balcony. Dean follows his brother outside and gently shuts the sliding glass door. Sam opens his beer for him, hands it over and they clink the necks of the bottles and drink at the same time. Dean takes a breath, drawing comfort from the familiarity of this - his brother, a beer, a cheap deck chair, the distant view of the sunset. 

And then Sam says, "So what are we going to do?" and the moment shatters.

Dean rolls his neck. "Keep looking for something, I guess."

Sam sighs. "Dean."

"Sam."

"You heard the witch. There's nothing she can do."

"She said wouldn't, not couldn't."

Sam snorts. "So what, we look for a witch with looser _morals_?"

"There has to be a way. There has to be someone who knows how to lift it. Who'd be willing to _try_."

Sam shakes his hair off his face and takes a sip of his beer. "Tell me again what happened with Cas."

Dean flinches, remembering waking up to the sound of that _pop_ Cas makes when he zaps in, like the air pressure has suddenly dropped. Cas and Lux standing in the middle of the room in the dark, Lux stained with blood and haunted looking, eyes like a dead girl's.

"He said," Dean starts, and has to stop and steady himself. "He said she was in danger. Cas, he ... he took her, Sam. On orders." He tips his chin to the sky. "From up top."

Sam cocks an eyebrow. "Took her from where?"

"From who," Dean corrects. "She was in DC. She ... I don't know what happened with her family but when she got cursed she ended up with ... Cas called it an organization."

"An organization?"

"Prostitution." The words tastes bitter on his tongue. "High end."

Sam's eyes widen. "They - they had her work like that?"

"Cas said ... I guess the clients are high up. So they got her when she was young, trained her. Even if she wasn't cursed it'd be bad but with it ..."

"How high up?" Sam asks suspiciously.

"Cas made it sound like it could turn into, I don't know, not a bidding war for her but ... he said it was dangerous, Sam. To have people with that much power wanting her, fighting over her. He said she was a risk."

"A risk?"

"To have her in that situation. Like, you know, fate of the world, blah blah destiny blah, Cas said he was given orders to take her out and put her with me until we could get the curse lifted."

"Dean," Sam says, his voice heavy with awe and sadness. "She's Helen."

"Helen?"

"Of Troy? The most beautiful woman in the world? The face that launched a thousand ships?"

"Yeah, I get it Sam. And look what happened because of that chick."

Sam's squinting a little at the sky. "So she's important."

"Apparently."

"We could take her to Jo"-

"No," Dean interjects sharply. "We're not doing that. She stays with me."

Sam's frowning. "Because of Cas?"

"Because I promised her," Dean admits.

Sam's mouth drops open. "You _what_?"

"She needs me, Sam."

"Yeah I get that, but Dean, how could you promise her something like that?"

"Something happened, the first night." Dean tilts his head back to look through the glass door into the room but all he sees is a curtain of blond waves spread over a pillow, Lux's pale legs against the burgundy bedspread.

"I'm going to need more than that," Sam says dryly.

Dean swallows back something bitter and takes a healthy swallow of beer. "I took her to the store. She didn't have anything - clothes, money, she didn't have freaking _shoes_ , Sam. We were in CVS and it was empty so we split up and..."

"And?" Sam prompts. 

"I found her on the floor," Dean says hoarsely. "Just - just staring up at me. There was a guy, this kid, and he...I promised I wouldn't let anything like that happen again."

"Dean," Sam says quietly, looking kind of horrified. "She's not Mom."

Dean scowls. "I know that."

"Do you?"

"Cas chose me." It makes Dean squirm a little, to claim her like this, but it's the truth. "She stays until he says differently."

"Okay," Sam holds his hands up in surrender. "I'll go back to the library tomorrow, see if I can dig anything up."

Dean nods curtly, tips his head back and drains his beer. His earlier headache has warped into a blanket of stiffness across his shoulders. "She just wanted a hairbrush."

"I remember," Sam says tentatively, "the first time I saw Jess's bathroom and was just - like I had no idea how much _shit_ girls had."

Dean chuckles, remembering the pout Lux had given him at the clothing store when he wouldn't buy her those stupid sandals she was mooning over. "She's a good kid," he says. "She's just been through some bad shit."

Sam stretches his ridiculous long legs out and taps his foot against Dean's ankle. "It's okay," he says. "I believe you."

/

She wakes up with a throbbing headache, eyes hot and swollen, curled up on Dean's bed, her feet in his lap. Lux shifts to look out the window but it's dark out, the room illuminated by the screen of the tv and the lamp between the two motel beds. Dean's sitting sideways on the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall, his thumbs resting in the arches of her feet.

"Hey kid," he says softly. "Feeling better?"

She stretches, arching her back, and blinks hazily. "Where's Sam?"

"Picking up dinner." His thumbs sweep up and down along the soles of her feet and Lux shivers. 

She rubs her eyes, half awake and disoriented as what happened earlier comes back in painful clarity. She stares down at ugly burgundy patterned bedspread, feeling sick with shame at the way she acted earlier, desperate and pathetic.

"Hey," he says, sliding his hands up to her ankles. "C'mere."

She lets him tug her down the bed and she crawls into his lap, gets her legs around his hips and finds that spot in the curve of his neck where she fits just right and buries her face there. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.

One of his hands slides up the back of her neck. "Nothing to apologize for."

She lifts her head in surprise. "You're not mad at me?"

He shrugs. "You were scared, its okay."

She curls her fingers into the fabric of his grey crewneck. "What are we going to do now?"

He gives her a weary smile and it's so beautiful, the way he looks at her, that it makes her dizzy. "We're gonna stay for now. Do more research, ask around. We'll figure something out."

"Okay." She's so close to him like this and suddenly Lux is aware of his body, his thighs under hers, the wall of his chest. Dean blinks, like he's hypnotized, and Lux creeps her hand up his shirt and spreads it over where his new tattoo lies. "Does it hurt?" she asks softly.

"No," he whispers. "Not anymore."

She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and watches his pupils flare. She releases her lip and feels him shift under her, his hands firm on her waist. Lux caresses her thumb over the neckline of his shirt, brushing the skin of his throat, and Dean shudders.

"Dean," she breathes.

His eyelashes flutter. "Lux...we..."

"What?" she whispers. She brings her hands up to his face and Dean goes still, allows her to cup his cheeks, explore his hairline, get the feel of his bones under her fingers. She slips her index finger between his lips and for one glorious second she feels his tongue curl around it before he reaches up and pulls her hands away.

"Lux." His voice sounds strained. "You don't want to do this, sweetheart."

She raises her chin, defiant. "Don't tell me what I want."

Her hands are trapped in his but she's got her legs wrapped around his hips and his eyes stuck on her lips and it rises up inside her, _power_ , the realization that she's in control here, that she has him trapped between her thighs and she _wants_.

"You're confused," he says, and she can tell he's trying to be firm but his voice is shaking. "You're upset, it's natural, but this isn't what you want"-

"I want _you_." 

He goes silent, his eyes wide, staring at her like she contains the secrets of the universe in her eyes, like she's something huge and powerful and he can't fight or deny her, is helpless beneath her. Lux feels drunk on this, the heat of his body under hers, the way he's looking at her. She tilts her head, bringing her lips closer to his. "Please," she whispers. "Dean, please."

He groans and then he surges up against her, one of his hands sliding up to her neck and -

_Oh_. His lips press against hers and Lux goes boneless, flattening her palm against his chest to keep from collapsing into him as she kisses him back. His lips are soft against hers but his hands are firm, one of them cupping the back of her head to guide the kiss, the other sliding underneath her shirt to spread over the curve of her hip.

His fingers stroke, sliding into the dip of her abdomen and Lux feels her stomach contract, heat spreading across her skin. It's an unfamiliar sensation, like she's melting against his touch, like all her fear and all her pain are dissolving under his hands. She whimpers, pushing against him for _more, more_ and feels him chuckle against her lips, the hand on her neck holding her head still.

"Easy," Dean murmurs, his lips brushing against hers in a ghost of a kiss.

"Dean," she whines, and he smiles, light dancing in his eyes.

"I've got you," he whispers. It's so intimate, tender, that she has to curl her hands around his neck, press her face against his jaw, feel the beat of his pulse against her cheek.

He feels so good like this, hands gentler than she knew possible, this fine balance of tenderness and strength. She never thought she'd get this, someone who is spared of her curse, someone who touches her like she's real, like she matters. She turns her face into his and kisses below his ear, reveling in the taste of his skin, the way he shivers when she traces the shell of his ear with her tongue.

Dean groans. "You don't...you don't..."

"I want to," she proclaims quietly, like it's a secret. "You make me want to."

"Christ," Dean breathes. "Sweetheart." He tips her chin up to kiss again and she parts her lips greedily, hungry for something she can't name and -

There's the sound of a key scraping in the lock and Lux flies off Dean's lap, and by the time Sam enters the motel room, arms full of paper bags with the logo of a Chinese restaurant printed on them, Dean and Lux are on opposite sides of the bed, staring blankly at the television.

/

Dean wakes up to the feeling of being watched, chest seizing up, hand reaching for his gun on instinct, but it's just Lux, sitting cross legged on the end of his bed, eyes wide open in the dark. Dean turns his head to the side but Sam's dead asleep facedown on his bed, fingertips hanging over the edge, almost brushing the floor.

"Hey," Dean whispers, sitting up. "You okay?"

She shrugs. She's wearing one of his grey vee necks and her legs are bare except for a tiny pair of white boy shorts that looked virginal when he bought them in their plastic packaging but look almost absurdly sexual on her, like those panties cheerleaders and catholic school girls wear under their skirts.

Dean fingers his tattoo, it's starting to flake and itch as it heals. "Couldn't sleep?"

She shakes her head. The clock on the nightstand glows 5:03 AM in fluorescent green numbers. Dean scrubs his face and climbs out of bed, digs through his duffle and finds a pair of jeans and a shirt. "Want to go for a drive?" he whispers.

She nods and hops off the bed without making any noise, and he watches her bend over and step into her denim cutoffs and yank on her shoes. Dean has a feeling they have at least a few hours until Sam wakes up but he scribbles a note on a page of motel stationary just in case before grabbing his keys and leading Lux out of the room.

It's twilight outside, they walk out to the parking lot in silence, climb into the Impala and sit in with the car in park. Lux's hair falls in messy waves down her shoulders and she curls up in her seat, gives him a sleepy smile. "Where are we going?"

Dean taps his fingers against the steering wheel. "Anywhere you wanna go?"

She sighs and stretches, the hem of his shirt tucked into the waistband of her shorts. "Somewhere quiet?"

Dean tips his head against his seat, thinking. "You ever been to the beach?"

Lux frowns slightly, her eyes flicking out the window. "Yeah, I - it was a long time ago."

"Do you want to go?"

A moment's hesitation but then she nods, tucking a stray wave behind her ear. "Yeah, okay."

They stop at the first gas station they pass and get coffee, Lux's small hand in his, her head leaning lightly against his shoulder as they walk back to the car. It takes about an hour to hit the Gulf, Dean parks in a public lot and gets a blanket out of the trunk. He and Lux take their shoes off when they hit the sand and walk toward the water, the beginning rays of light beginning to cut through the dark.

They find a good spot close to the water, Dean lays the blanket out in front of a big piece of driftwood, reveling in the empty beach, the only sounds the distant crash of waves. He sits down, lining up his shoes on the edge of the blanket and faces the water, leaning back against the chuck of water-worn wood. 

"Wow," Lux murmurs, her toes in the sand, staring out at the ocean. She stays like that for a minute, like she's overwhelmed by the vastness in front of her, before dropping her shoes and stepping into the blanket, crawling around to wiggle back in the space between his legs and leans back against his chest.

They sit together, breathing in silence, her little body perfectly folded up into him, filling up all the negative space around him. Lux shivers and turns her head to the side, pressing her cheek against his throat.

"Cold?" he asks.

She nods shyly and Dean cups her shoulders in his hands, rubs up and down the length of her arms, feeling out her small bones, the delicate tendons, the sharp lines of her biceps. His finger catches over something on her upper arm, the left one, a small _something_ under the skin. He pushes into it gently, frowning, thinking of a tracker but that can't be right, no one's come looking for her.

"It's an implant," she says softly, shifting against him. "All of us had them. You know, so..."

Oh. Birth control. Right.

He doesn't say anything, doesn't want to acknowledge it further. Wants to give her this: one morning, silence, safety, the ocean. Something good, something pure, something _they_ can't take away.

He shifts his hands to her legs instead, spreads them out on her thighs, weathered and tan against her white skin. He gets a flash of that premonition again, his hands pushing her legs open, and he grits his jaw. He peels them off her legs then brings only his fingertips down against her skin, trails them up to her knees and sweeps them down, traces swirling shapes against the soft silk of her skin.

Lux sighs and he can feel her hands settle against the outsides of his thighs. "That feel good?"

She nods so Dean does it again, the repetitive motion lulling him, everything starting to fade except this, this sweet pretty girl in his lap, her soft sighs, the way her muscles melt into his touch.

"Yeah," Lux affirms, sounding a little more awake, a little excited. "You can - I like it."

"Hmm." His lips find her temple and he presses a kiss against the side of her head as his hands slide around to stroke the insides of her thighs, running his fingers up and down taut muscle. 

He doesn't do anything more, just continues to breathe with her head tucked under his chin, hands on her thighs, and then Lux twists, turning her head to look up at him. Her cheeks are a little flushed and her eyes are big and just like that he's half-hard in his jeans.

"Dean, can...can you..." Lux blinks and swallows. "You can make it feel good."

Dean freezes, his stomaching contracting when he realizes what she's asking for. He almost says no, flat out, but then he looks at her, sees the way her fingers are curled into his jeans, the wide-eyed look of trust on her face.

"Are you sure?" he whispers.

Her eyes flutter shut and she nods. "I want...I just want to feel you. Is that... can we" -

"Yeah, yeah," he agrees, because he's lost his mind, the logic center of his brain held hostage by an eighteen year old ex-prostitute who looks at Dean like he's God incarnated. "Are you sure?"

She bites her lip but then she nods. "I'm sure."

"You don't have to do this," he says softly. "We don't have to do anything." 

"I know," she says. "But...I don't want to be afraid of it forever. I..." she ducks her head. "I want it to be you."

He brings his right hand to the fly of her shorts and she stiffens, her whole body locking up.

"Hey." Dean doesn't continue, just palms her through the denim, other hand steady on her hip. "Are you scared?"

"A little," she admits. "But I still want to."

He undoes the button of her shorts and slowly tugs down the zipper. "You can stop me, anytime, okay?"

"Okay," she says shakily.

"I mean it. If you change your mind, or you get too scared or you just need a breather, you can tell me. I won't get mad."

"Okay," she says again, her voice slightly more steady.

"I never want you to be scared of me," he whispers. "This is about feeling good, okay?" He tucks his fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts, jeans tugged down to her hips, and slowly slides his fingers under the fabric.

She freezes under him, her hands flying to his wrists, bony fingers digging into his skin. Dean doesn't dare move, sits there with his fingers settled against velvet folds and waits until she sinks back against him, her grip on him loosening. Dean starts to move his fingers then, so, so slow, dragging them up and down, long light stokes. Lux is shaking a little, turning her face into his chest, breathing erratically.

"Try to relax," he murmurs. "Focus on how it feels."

Her eyelids flutter and he feels it when something in her unlocks; she arches against him, a surprised little sound slipping past her lips. Dean smiles into her hair, fingers carefully giving her a little more pressure, feeling it when she starts to seek out his touch, rolling up into his hand as he strokes her.

"How's that?" he asks, watching her twitch and shiver, panting against him.

"I - I don't know," she breathes, making a little helpless noise.

He stops moving his fingers but he doesn't take them away, cupping her, hot wet skin against his calloused fingertips. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No."Lux rolls her hips and makes that sound again. "I want - don't stop."

He starts to stoke again, his free hand coming up to smooth her hair away from her face. "It's okay to let it feel good," he tells her softly. "It's okay to like it, Lux."

Her head jerks in response and then she tips it back against him, pushing her cheek into his palm. Her breathing picks up so Dean moves just a little faster, feels that subtle shift in her when she starts to arch with her whole back, moving along to the rhythm of his hand.

"Dean," she whimpers. Her eyes are shut tight, her body warm and undulating under his hands. "I don't know...what's" -

"Shh," he soothes. "Lux. Lux, open your eyes."

She blinks up at him, vulnerable and so, so beautiful like this, just like he though she'd be, eyes wide open and searching for something, lips parted. He flicks his thumb and watches her face contort, one of her hands reaching up to clamp over his forearm.

"Look at the water," Dean whispers. "Just breathe and look at the water." He's in his element now, fingers moving in a steady, swift rhythm, the rising sun throwing shadows all over the sand.

She groans, the first real actual sound she's made aside from those little kitten whimpers. " _Dean_."

"Don't fight it," he advises. "It's like the water. Look, Lux, see the waves? It's like that, you can't fight it, you gotta let it happen."

"I, ah..." Lux gasps, her toes flexing. "I see." Her head rolls from side to side, restless. "Dean, _please_."

"Hey, you're okay. Relax," he reminds her lightly, and she collapses against him, nodding, hands going limp even as her thighs start to shake. "There you go," he murmurs, stroking her flushed cheek, fingers of his other hand curling inside her. "Good girl."

Lux moans, and Dean thinks, _oh, of course,_ remembers that he's not her first everything but he's her first _this_ , the first person to treat her like she's something special, remembers the way she melts when he calls her baby, how she flushes when he praises her.

He curls his fingers again, fingertips rubbing gently, and whispers, right into the shell of her ear, "Come on baby. There you go, that's my girl."

Lux exhales, this slow breathy cry that pitches higher and higher and then she bucks, once, twice against his hand and goes rigid, spasming, this raw broken gasp tearing out of her throat. Dean inhales low, dropping his head against her cheek and slowly pulls out of her, trails his fingers up and down a few times just to feel her shudder, until she cries out, like it's too much, and he withdraws his hand, wipes it against the blanket, and pulls her shorts up.

Lux turns sideways in his arms, curling her legs up to her chest and tilts her face up to stare at him. The sun is up, he realizes, lighting up her hair, her face, making her glow with light, like an angel washed up on the shore. He tries to talk but it feels too big for words, what's happening between them, is suddenly afraid he'll only mess it up. So he ducks his head down and captures her lips in his, kisses the hell out of her, and Lux reaches up to grip his shirt, gives as good as she gets.

When she pulls away her eyes are huge and bluer like the ocean, and Dean feels impossible words beating in his chest, words like _baby_ and _precious_ and _mine_ and _love_.

"We should go," he says thickly. "Sam'll be wondering where we went."

Lux nods and something shuts down on her face, some expression darkening, and Dean is so fucked, because he can't stop himself, can't stop from suddenly pulling her to him, cupping her delicate face in his hands. "Hey, hey, you were perfect. You did so good. You're so brave, you know that right?"

Her lips part, and for a second Lux just stares at him before she lurches up on her tiptoes and kisses him. "It's you," she whispers, right against his lips. "You make me brave."


	10. I swear to the stars I'll burn this whole city down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is taking forever. I would like to reiterate that I do have an outline but this is getting much longer than I realized it would be. Le sigh.

Dean doesn't know what wakes him up first - Lux screaming or the deep lick of pain across his chest.

He yelps out loud, palms slapping at his chest before he realizes he's not actually on fire, but something is obviously wrong because his whole fucking chest feels like it's on fire.

Next to him, on the cot, Lux is thrashing around, eyes squeezed shut, screaming bloody murder and waving her hands in front of her face.

Dean rolls over to try to help her and the fire spreads all the way down his side; he ends up half off the bed, gasping dizzily for oxygen, fingers digging into the mattress.

"Dean," Sam says sleepily, sitting up in bed, shaking his head to get his hair out of his eyes. "What's happening?"

"Lux," Dean grits out, and drags himself up to standing. He crumples back over, falling into the wall, hands pushing against his new tattoo, throbbing painfully against his skin. "She gets nightmares."

"Dean!" Sam says again, sounding alarmed.

"No!" Lux shrieks. "No, no, no!"

"Help her," Dean orders hoarsely, pushing off the wall and stumbling across the room.

"Dean" -

"Just - help her. I need some air." Dean pulls himself out of the room and stumbles down the stairs, follows glowing exits signs down a hallway to the back entrance of the motel.

It's raining outside. He's facing the parking lot, streetlights slicing through dark shadows. Dean leans his back against the wall and tilts his head up to the sky. His hands press against the new tattoo, like he can keep the pain compressed between his palms.

"Cas," he whispers brokenly. "Cas, please."

There's a moment of stillness and then there it is, that pop, that inexplicable feathery brush of wings, and Castiel is standing in front of him, eyes large and focused on Dean, a furious expression on his face. Rain falls in sheets from the sky, Castiel the avenging angel backlight by street lamps.

"What did you do?" Cas demands, stalking through puddles until he's standing right in front of Dean, trench coat swirling around him.

He inhales shallowly, feeling lightheaded. "What?"

Castiel's hand is cold against his skin when he pushes Dean's shirt up to reveal the tattoo, ethereally shimmering gold against his skin.

"What did you do?" Castile asks again. "Why would you do this?"

Dean stares at the angel's face in disbelief. "You know why."

"This was inadvisable," Castiel mutters. "You shouldn't have" -

"Well I had to, okay?" Dean whisper-shouts. "You left, you just _left_ her with me, what were you thinking, huh?"

"I was following orders," Cas replies stiffly.

"Well now I have a tattoo that's fucking glowing and I feel like I'm about to yak all over you, are you going to help me out or not?"

Cas sighs and lays his cool hand over Dean's chest. He can feel the tattoo get searing hot and then almost immediately ice cold, and then, nothing. Dean exhales in relief, slumping back against the wall. Castiel takes his hand away, standing shoulder to shoulder with Dean.

Now that the pain's gone and he can get a full breath he has to wonder for the first time, why now, after a whole week of radio silence, has Cas come to him? Next to him the angel is still gazing out at the parking lot and the rain with a grim expression.

"You shouldn't have done that," Cas says gruffly. "It could - complicate things."

Dean's too tired to get worked about how bad that could be. "Complicate things how?"

"I suppose we'll find out," Cas murmurs, which isn't at all comforting.

"Are you here to take her back?" He isn't sure he wants the answer, which kind of scares the shit out of him.

He's not supposed to want her. She's.... beautiful and fucked up and deserves so much more than Dean is capable of giving her.

And yet.

Blue eyes shining in the darkness. Small hands on his skin that make the noise in his head evaporate. A crown of butterflies, that addictive scent of magic.

It's not like Dean's ever been good at resisting temptation.

Cas shakes his head. "You called me. I've been - busy."

Dean swallows something thick in his throat. "I don't know how I'm going to get that curse broken. It - I'm not even sure it's possible."

Cas nods thoughtfully. "It will be alright, Dean."

He raises a scornful eyebrow. "Will it?"

"Do not doubt my father's plans for his children," Cas chides gently, and then he's gone, like he was never here at all.

Dean blinks and drops his head back against the wall. He rolls his shirt back up, the tattoo looks charred, smoky colored, but the word is still clear.

"Jesus Christ," he mutters to himself, shaking his head.

Unbelievable.

Back inside the motel room Sam is sitting up awake in his bed. Lux is sitting on Dean's, wedged into the crack between the headboard and the wall, knees to her chest, arms wrapped protectively across her shins.

Their heads both snap around at the sound of the door opening and Dean is greeted with twin glares of contempt. Lux looks away first, flopping over into the fetal position, firmly facing the wall.

"What the hell?" Sam whispers harshly. "Why'd you go?"

Dean looks down at his wet bare feet, shoulders hunched in defense. "Had to talk to Cas."

"Cas," Sam repeats flatly. "Here?"

Dean flicks the light off and climbs onto the cot that Lux has abandoned. "Sorry," he mutters, not even knowing who he's apologizing too.

Lux is silent in the dark, too still to be asleep. Sam sighs and lies back down on his bed. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean mumbles. "Go back to sleep."

Sam snorts. "Whatever."

Dean lies flat on his back in the dark, listening to Sam and Lux, waiting for their breathing to soften and level out. He lies there while they sleep, fingers tracing over his _inadvisable_ tattoo. When the sun rises, light creeping in through the curtains, Dean rises with it, quietly changes his shirt and puts on shoes. He scribbles a note for Sam on motel stationary, pockets the keys to the Impala and slips out the door.

It isn't too hot yet but the air shimmers over the bitumen of the parking lot like a warning. He turns the car on and leans back against the headrest, waits til the AC really kicks in to shift into drive and peels out of the lot. He parallel parks a few blocks away in front of a coffee shop, runs inside and gets a large black coffee and a danish. He eats on a bench on the sidewalk outside, licking sticky sugar icing off his fingers.

The one-two punch of caffeine and sugar jolts him fully awake, sleepy synapses kicking into gear. He gets back into the car, cranks Zeppelin and drives.

By the time he gets to Mariah William's house the sun is high in the sky, his shadow black against the sidewalk as he walks up to the door. He knocks with his fist, wiping sweat out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. 

She answers the door, black hair braided back to show off her lean neck and exquisite bone structure. "You," she sneers. 

He reaches out and sticks his hand in the crack between the door and the frame, hoping she's not the kind of witch who has no problem maiming a hunter for daring to step on her doorstep. His intuition is right, she glares at him but holds the door open wider to let him in.

"Please," he implores, and peels the hem of his shirt up to show her the tattoo, faded to an ashy grey but still glimmering in a way that's just not normal and clearly some kind of magic.

She arches an eyebrow at him. "You didn't show me this before."

"I didn't know it was relevant," he mutters, feeling too big for the narrow hallway, nose thick with the scent of incense wafting through her house.

"Let me see," she murmurs. She pushes right into his space, one long finger coming up to trace over the tattoo.

Dean shuts his eyes, repressing a shudder as the pad of her finger traces over the raised ink. Her touch feels strange, a little too cool, like ice water dripping over his skin. He hears her sigh, and then her hand is gone. When he opens his eyes she's staring at him, a strange mix of pity and awe on her face.

"Baby boy," she says softly. "You did a stupid, stupid thing."

/

When she wakes up in the morning Dean is gone. At first Lux thinks maybe he's in the shower but the bathroom door is wide open, the light off.

"Hey," Sam says. He's already dressed, standing near the door with a sheet of paper in his hand. "Dean had to go run an errand, he'll be back later."

She sits up, the bedsheets still wrapped around her legs. Last night flashes through her mind: waking up with a throat raw from screaming, Sam's wide palm covered in marker, soft on her shoulder as his warm voice told her gently to _breathe, just breathe_.

"What kind of errand?" Her voice comes out scratchy.

Sam shrugs. "Didn't say." He must be able to sense her fear because he offers her a soft smile. "It's okay, he would've told me if something was wrong. Let's get breakfast." 

He glances at the clock, it's almost noon, and chuckles. "Or lunch, I guess; he'll probably be here by the time we get back."

What can she say? Dean left her.

Lux takes a shower, massages shampoo into her hair and uses her fingers to comb through the knots. Soapy hands slide over slick skin, remembering the way Dean touched her yesterday, his rough hands unbelievably gentle, little whispers of praise making her whole body light up in a way she didn't even know was possible. 

She changes her clothes in the bathroom, pulls on the denim cutoffs and one of Dean's shirts, a thin grey vee neck that she has to tuck into the waistband of the shorts because it's so long on her. She dries her hair with the little cheap hairdryer stamped with the motel's name on the bathroom counter, uses the hairbrush Dean got her until her hair is a rippling golden wave cascading down her back.

Sam is waiting for her by the door, long body leaning against the dresser. Lux feels awkward with him, unable to think past those huge hands, how easily he could hold her down and rip her apart. They haven't spoken much, Dean their only common denominator. He probably thinks she's just a dumb kid, good for only one thing, or maybe he thinks her a witch, someone whose magic has seduced his older brother into helping her.

And then he smiles and he's not threatening anymore, and she can feel herself relax. "Ready?" Sam questions.

She pulls on her purple flats and slides her sunglasses over her face. "Yeah."

It's hot and humid outside, her hair a heavy thick weight against the back of her neck. She almost slips her hand in Sam's on instinct but then she remembers that he's not Dean and settles on walking slightly behind him, so she can press herself into the space between his arm and his ribs if she has to.

He walks her to a little cafe and has her slide into the booth first before sitting down next to her, just like Dean does, so her body is protected by his. Sam orders coffee and pours her a mug from the carafe without even asking. She curls her hands around the mug in delight, watching him pick up a stray newspaper from the next table over.

She peeks over his shoulder to skim the headlines: a riot in Alabama over an unarmed black boy who was shot by a white police officer who wasn't even suspended, let alone charged. A bill congress is pushing that would allow for more oil drilling in Alaska. 

She has a crazy thought for a second, to take the paper out of Sam's hand to read the article, all the way to the bottom where they list the names of the congressmen who wrote the bill, just to see if _his_ name is there.

Sam catches her reading over his shoulder, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Oh," he says, sounding kind of helpless, moving his elbow so she can see more clearly. "I wasn't... I didn't know if you could, um. Read."

His words feel like a slap across her face. She curls back away from him, coffee mug held tightly in her hands. It's too hot for coffee really, but the air conditioning is blowing freezing cold in the cafe. She stares down at it, unable to meet his eyes, the back of her neck burning in humiliation.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes. "I guess I - I really don't know anything about you but Dean said you were, uh.... I assumed you didn't go to school." 

She swallows, pinching her thigh so she doesn't cry. "I didn't, after. But before I was cursed, I uh..." Lux sighs. "I was just a regular kid."

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

She shrugs. "You didn't know."

A waitress comes and plunks down a pitcher of ice water down on the table along with two laminated menus. Lux pushes down a wave of panic. She can eat with Dean, he makes it so easy, but he's not here, he left, and what if he doesn't come back? What if he doesn't want her anymore, has dumped her on his little brother and driven off?

She remembers last night, waking up fighting against the cage of Sam's arms, wilding looking around for _Dean, Dean_ , and only seeing darkness.

"Lux?" She blinks, Sam is looking at her expectantly, the waitress hovering next to their table with an order pad in her hands.

She gets a rush a deja vu; it's so much like her first day of freedom with Dean, and how strange that it had felt more like terror than liberty, the realization that she doesn't know how to live without all that cruel order in her life.

And how Dean had taken all that boundless space and time and somehow constrained it so it was manageable for her. Gave her boundaries and soft words, a place where she fit, a place where she can have butterflies and ice cream and a man with hands strong enough to break her taking her apart so, so slowly and putting her back together into something better, stronger, like the kind of girl she could've been if _they_ hadn't happened.

"Lux," Sam says again. "Do you know what you want?"

She ducks her head. "Dean usually picks for me."

Sam's eyes widen. "Oh, I didn't" -

"It's okay," she says quickly. "I'll have whatever you have."

"Okay." He nods his head and gives the waitress a warm smile, his eyes crinkling in the corner, and orders two garden omelets and fruit cups. They read the rest of paper together over breakfast, Sam occasionally explaining something, her six year gap of missing history slowly getting filled in.

He pays the bill when they finish, all cash, and they stand up to leave. Lux turns towards the front of the cafe and freezes; there's a cluster of teenage boys in letterman jackets standing just inside the door, staring at her. She reaches back instinctively for Dean but Dean isn't here and her throat closes up in panic.

"Lux." Sam's suddenly there, in between her and the boys, so he's blocking her from their line of sight. "Get up on the booth."

She blinks, ears buzzing. "What?"

"Up." Sam grips her hands and pushes her back against the booth and has her stand up on the vinyl cushion. He's still taller this way, her head barely up to his chest. "Put your hands around my neck."

She lifts her arms obediently and he scoops his broad hands under the backs of her thighs and picks her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and Sam carries her right out of the cafe, the cluster of boys forced to part to let Sam through, his arms holding her tightly against his chest.

He puts her down on the sidewalk outside, his hands sliding up to cup her shoulders. "Are you okay?"

She nods tightly, bottom lip pulled in between her teeth.

He sighs, absentmindedly squeezing her shoulders, looking worried. "Is it always like that?"

"That wasn't bad," she whispers, feeling that familiar flush of shame, at how screwed up she is, can't function on her own, not while she's still cursed.

He tilts his head up to the sky and drops his hands from her shoulders only to hold out his left hand, fingers outstretched. "You want to go back?"

She nods and takes his hand. When they get back to the motel she peers around the corner and feels her heart constrict when she sees Dean's car.

"See?" Sam says cheerfully. They go inside and climb two floors up to the room, Sam flashing her a smile as he unlocks the door and opens it for her.

She goes into the room and her heart sinks to her toes because all the lights are off, the bathroom is empty, the room is just like they left it.

Dean isn't here. He didn't come back.

/

Dean drives back to the motel on autopilot, the witch's words repeating over and over in his head until they lose their meaning altogether, until it's just a story, a fucked up parable.

_You've bonded to her...irreversible...magical connection...words have power...what kind of idiot gets a magical tattoo without knowing...._

Dean, that's who. He parks behind the motel and can't get himself out of the car. He glances up at the window of their room, responsibility and guilt crushing him until he's curled over the steering wheel, the weight of his failure sucking the air out his lungs.

He's tied himself to her, an innocent girl now magically attached to a hunter, a cursed girl who needs him in a way he doesn't think he can handle.

He sees Castiel, his disapproving face. _Dean, what did you do?_

He did what he always does. He fucked up.

It's almost one in the afternoon and he can picture Lux up in that room like Rapunzel, waiting for her prince. Dean can't be that. He's not a teenage dream boyfriend, he's certainly not royalty riding through the woods on a white horse. 

Now she's cursed and she's tethered to him, a Winchester, its own kind of curse.

Girls die around Dean.

With that thought he stumbles out of the car, but instead of walking toward the motel he turns and cuts through an alley, wanders in the sunshine until he finds a bar that's open in the middle of the day. He walks inside, head instantly pounding from the music, and settles on a stool in front of the bar, the air conditioning like a blessing against his skin.

He orders a whiskey, slams it back and immediately orders another. He can't face Lux, or Sam, can't bring himself to do anything but swallow down whiskey like it's water. His eyes mist over, thinking about Lux waiting for him to come back to her, the look on her face when he came back into the room last night after leaving her with Sam.

Imagines big blue eyes filling with betrayed tears. 

Dean keeps drinking, barely notices the group of women in one corner until one of them comes up to the bar. She's wearing a tight white tank top and a denim skirt, long red hair. She trails her nails over the back of his neck when she walks away. He pounds his drink and looks over his shoulder. She's checking him out, tongue flicking out to lick something off her bottom lip, eyebrow raised like she's asking him a question.

There's heat flaring in his chest and he pushes off from the bar, walks slowly in the back towards the bathrooms. He just needs to clear his head, get it out of his system. Process yet another head- spinning blow and then he'll go back to Lux and his brother and deal with everything.

The bathrooms are small and private, he hovers by the door and then the redhead appears, just like he though she would. Dean grabs her by the wrist and she giggles, swinging her hips as she pushes past him into the bathroom. It's gross, black chipped paint and a dirty mirror but he doesn't need much, not when alcohol is coursing through his veins, not when there's a woman pressing her breasts up against his chest and pursing her lips up for a kiss.

He spins her around instead, can't make himself kiss her on the mouth, not now, so her lowers his lips to her neck and closes his eyes. It's like falling asleep, mind and body drifting as they move tighter. All he hears is rushing in his ears, feels cool hands against his hips, pants and grunts barely audible.

He's so gone and he knows it, and it's a relief. To detach from reality, just for a few minutes. It's just sensory input, it's meaningless. The crinkle of a condom wrapper opening, the tight grip of her hand guiding him inside her, warm warm heat and slick all around him. He bows his head and thinks of blond hair and skin that's thin and soft as a flower petal. He lets the waves pull him under and doesn't come back to the surface until it's over, until her lips brush his cheek, until she walks away and he's left standing in the bathroom, empty and worse than before.

He stumbles out of the bar and winces at the sunlight, hands searching through his pockets for a pair of sunglasses and comes up empty. His phone is buzzing though, he couldn't hear it before through the pounding of synthesizers inside. He has four voicemails, all from Sam.

He hits play, holding the phone up to his ear, nausea rolling through him as he listens the the messages.

_Dean call me back._

_Dean call me back as soon as you get this._

_Dean, it's an emergency, you have to come back_.

_Dean, you have to come back right now. Lux is gone_.

Dean hangs up and vomits into the gutter, and then he straightens up and he runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I was sorry?


	11. all I ever meant to do was to keep you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be aware this chapter has a trigger warning for implied assault. Kudos to you all for somehow sticking with this.

Dean sees Sam in front of the motel from across the street, looking haggard and out of breath, his hair flopping messily over one eye.

"What happened?" Dean yells, running through the intersection against a red light. Sweat is pouring down his back and his heart is pounding so loudly he can hear it in his ears.

"I don't know!" Sam exclaims, frantic. "I took her out to lunch and when we got back she saw the Impala in the lot on the way up to the room. When we realized you weren't there" - Sam's voice gets sharp, accusatory, "Lux asked me if I had a set of keys, she said she was cold and she left her sweater in the car"-

"She doesn't have a sweater!"

"I didn't know that! I locked her in, I ran down to the car and when I came back to the room she was just...."

"What?" Dean has to clench his hands into the fabric of his shirt so he doesn't hit Sam right in his stupid face. "She was just gone?"

"The room was locked," Sam says, looking down at the ground. "She left her sunglasses on your bed. I think she... I think she thought you weren't coming back."

The guilt hits him like a sucker punch to the stomach. All his fault, of course it is; he left Lux to go get drunk and screw a random girl and now she's gone. The tattoo flutters, a bitter reminder of his responsibility.

"I've been looking for half an hour," Sam continues. "I checked the lobby, the dining room, the gym, the parking lot. Dean, I don't think she's here."

Dean gets a flash of memory, suddenly. Lux, sitting across from him in a booth that first morning, a raised purple-blue bruise on her cheek stark against her white skin. _Without you I wouldn't make it to the door_.

"No," he says, tugging at Sam's elbow to lead him back towards the entrance to the motel. "She wouldn't make it that far, come on."

They run up the stairs to their room, Sam unlocks the door and Dean goes straight for his duffle, yanking open the zipper and sticking his hands in.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

He finds his FBI badge and flashes it at Sam. "Get yours, follow my lead."

Sam nods in understanding, lunging towards his bag to dig out his own badge. He pulls out a Magnum, checks the clip before shoving the gun in the waistband of his jeans. They split up in the hallway, Sam takes the west side while Dean goes east.

Dean approaches the first door, raps loudly with his fist. "FBI!" he announces, and uses his shoulder to force the door open.

A few teenage boys are sitting on a bed, a bong filled with ice water between them, staring at Dean in stupid, stoned confusion. It only takes a glance in the bathroom to know Lux isn't here, he backs out the room without an apology and moves on to the next room.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Two teenage boys so absorbed in some hardcore making out they don't even notice his presence. 

_Where are you_ , he thinks, badge clenched in his hand, tattoo painfully taut against his skin. 

He's almost at the end of the hallway when he hears Sam from far away, screaming his name. Dean turns on his heel and runs, skidding past their room and down the hall until he gets to a room with the door wide open. The room is empty but the bathroom door is open, Sam's huge frame the only thing he can see. 

"Dean," Sam says softly, and reaches out to take his gun and badge from his shaking hands, stepping aside to let him into the bathroom.

Lux is lying on the tiled floor, naked, curled up in the fetal position. Her eyes are open; she's staring blankly at the wall, arms folded tightly over her bare breasts. She doesn't look hurt, at least not on the surface, but there are faint bloody footprints on the tiled floor and her thighs are clamped together, little tremors wracking her frame.

Dean stands there frozen, remembering the promise he made to her that night after she was attacked on the floor of CVS, and how she had dismissed it outright, _you can't promise me that_.

Like she knew. Knew that he was powerless in a way he couldn't admit, knew that not even a Winchester could fight this and win.

"Dean!" Sam's shaking his shoulder, trying to get him to focus.

 _Focus_.

"Towel," Dean snaps. 

Sam tosses one to him and he lays it over Lux like a blanket. Dean gets down on his knees and slides into the space between her body and the wall. She doesn't acknowledge his presence, breathing shallowly through her nose, lips pressed tightly together.

"I don't see her clothes anywhere," Sam whispers.

Dean ignores him, kicks his legs out and gets down on his belly to lie next to her. "Hey baby," he whispers, reaching out with his right hand to brush her hair out of her face. Lux doesn't react, her skin icy cold to the touch. He cups his hand over her cheek, two fingers sliding into the hollow under her jaw to feel her pulse.

"Dean, we should go," Sam says tightly.

"Just give me a second." He strokes her cheek, waiting for some sign that she sees him, feels him, but nothing comes. He sighs quietly and tucks the towel tighter around her body.

"Time to get up," he says quietly, and starts to roll her over onto her back so he can pull her up but Lux coughs and starts to choke, eyes bulging wide as a trickle of blood seeps out of the corner of her mouth.

"Okay, okay," he says hurriedly, pushing up on his knees and sliding his left hand under her neck to lift her head. "Let me see."

He pushes his fingers between her lips and forces her mouth open, left hand tight on her neck, ignoring the way she starts to shake, one of her hands flying out to grip his shirt. Her mouth is full of blood, it takes him a few seconds to locate the source, a cut in the middle of her tongue.

"You're okay, you bit your tongue," he deduces. Sam passes him a plastic cup sitting on the sink and Dean holds it out in front of her mouth. "Spit."

She obediently curls forward, gagging, and spits a mouthful of blood into it before sinking back into him, held up only by his hand cupping her neck.

"Dean," Sam says again, quiet, looking horrified. "We need to get out of here, now."

Dean nods, gets his other arm under Lux's knees and picks her up bridal-style. Her fingers reach up and grip his neck. She's small and silent in his arms but she's holding on tight and something in Dean relaxes just a fraction, knowing that some part of her is still fighting.

Sam leads them out with his gun in his hand, pointed down at the floor. There's no one in the hallway, they walk quickly to their room and get inside. Sam slams the door shut and locks it; Dean walks around him and carries Lux into the bathroom, flipping on the lights and setting her down on the counter.

She won't let go of his neck, he has to reach up and pry her hands off, holding her wrists ( _Jesus Christ_ , the same wrists he gripped and squeezed and held against a mattress when he was under her curse).

"Dean?" Sam's leaning in the doorway. "Should I, uh... do you need me to go to the store and get... anything?"

Dean stares at his brother for a second, baffled, and then he realizes what Sam is asking and he has to swallow back nausea. "No," he says. "She's, ah... she has a thing."

"Okay." Sam looks vaguely mortified but he recovers well, shaking his hair out and exhaling. "I'm gonna go out for a couple of hours and take care of a few things, and um, give you guys some time."

Sam shuts the bathroom door as he leaves and then it's just Dean and Lux. She's staring vaguely at the wall over his shoulder, her eyes blank. He marvels at that a little, her ability to completely detach. She's in shock, he knows, she's dissociating; a maladaptive self-defense mechanism as a reaction to trauma. 

He lets go of her wrists and watches her arms fall limply to her sides. Dean picks up a washcloth and holds it over the sink to get it damp and then brings it to her lips. "Open," he commands softly.

She obeys, slowly opening her mouth, blood pooling on her tongue. Dean braces his left hand against her jaw and gently presses the washcloth against her tongue with his right, hearing her choked inhale as she begins to breathe through her nose.

"Easy," Dean murmurs, carefully mopping up her bloody mouth. "You didn't get it too badly, it's already stopped bleeding." 

He wrings the washcloth out over the sink and takes a disposable plastic cup and fills it from the tap. "Here, rinse."

She doesn't take the cup but she tilts her head back, lips parted, and waits. He grits his teeth and moves his free hand to the back of her head and brings the cup up to her mouth. She takes careful, delicate sips, swishes and then turns her head over her shoulder to spit pink tinged water into the sink.

Dean tosses the cup, bringing his hands down to the counter on either side of her hips. "I'm going to see if you're hurt anywhere else now, okay?"

She doesn't respond, eyes still glazed over. Dean takes the liberty of picking up her right arm in his hands but she doesn't flinch, doesn't even seem to notice. He slides his hand up her arm slowly, checking for bruises or bumps but there's nothing, just soft pale skin and taut muscle under his fingertips. He repeats the process on her left arm, then moves down to her legs. 

There are bruises on her thighs. Dean swallows, eyes flicking up to her face but she remains impassive, a perfect little statue. Dean is reminded suddenly, of an old myth. King Midas, the man blessed, _ha_ , cursed is more likely, by Dionysus, granted a wish that everything he touched would be turned to gold.

He had a daughter, who ran up to greet her father one day and was by magical alchemy turned into a golden statue, all because of her father's greed. An innocent girl, destroyed by a man's selfish desire.

Dean spreads his hands lightly over her thighs and recoils when he feels the stickiness of her skin there. He can't make himself examine it closer, knowing exactly what he'd find, tacky white fluid crusting over. She doesn't even seem to notice, blinking heavily like she might fall asleep.

"Okay," he breathes, and pulls away to push the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Okay."

He turns on the water in the shower and sits on the closed toilet lid as the tub fills with warm water. When it's full he turns off the water and walks back over to Lux. He cups one hand over her shoulder and she twitches, eyelashes fluttering.

"Let's clean up," he says quietly. 

He unwraps her towel slowly, moving at near glacial pace so he doesn't startle her. He picks her up and carries her to the tub but when he starts to lower her in Lux kicks out and gets her legs wrapped around his, clinging to him like an spider monkey.

"Okay, it's alright." He sets her down on her feet, holding her up with one arm and yanks off his shirt one handed, unzips his jeans and kicks them off. 

He steps into the tub, helping her over the porcelain lip and sitting down in the water. Dean leans back against the tub, settling Lux between his legs. She drops back against his chest, turning sideways so she's curled up between his thighs, her arms wrapped protectively over her shins.

The water laps gently around their bodies, the only sound in the bathroom except for Lux's ragged breathing. She feels so small, practically weightless in the water, and Dean thinks of nymphs, faeries, sprites. It still seems unbelievable to him, even now, with her lying lax and bruised against him, that she's only human.

Or is it the mystical connection, the unintended bond he created when he got tattooed, than makes him feel this way? As if he is in the presence of a goddess, a powerful magical being trapped in the body of a broken teenage girl.

Dean puts his arms around her and when she doesn't stiffen or pull away he drops his cheek to her head, presses kisses into her hair, and prays fervently for absolution.

/

There was a girl once. An older girl with glowing golden skin and a curtain of thick dark hair. The girl worked for _them_ , she was there Lux's first night when Mother dragged her in, still in her school uniform. Pale blue button down, plaid skirt torn and stained, her navy patterned knee socks pushed down to her ankles. She'd been crying for hours by then, shoulders hunched over, arms wrapped around her stomach.

The girl had held her, in the small room that housed six cots and ten girls, rocked her in her lap like Lux was her baby, murmuring soothing nonsense. And when Lux had finally stopped crying, fists pressed against her mouth, the older girl had pushed her hair away from her wet cheeks and forced her chin up to look at her.

"You need to have a place to go," the girl said, her voice low and urgent. "In here." She tapped the top of Lux's head. "A place where you feel safe. Somewhere good. The beach, or your old bedroom. A place that's yours. And when they come for you, you go to that place and you stay there."

The girl combed her fingers through Lux's hair. "They're going to hurt you," she whispered, her words like tiny pointed icicles. "There's no point in fighting it. You can't win. But you can hide, here." She cupped her hand over the back of Lux's head. "They can't get you here."

A few weeks later she was gone and Lux never saw her again, but she never forgot the lesson, the gift the girl had given her. A magic trick she's used again and again, her only defense.

Her safe place is under the dining room table, the one in her old house. It has a heavy burgundy tablecloth so long that it falls almost to the floor, making it a perfect hiding spot. Lux used to play under there when she was little, splayed out on the plush rose patterned carpet. Spent hours coloring in her Disney princess coloring book, or playing with her dolls.

She imagines herself there now, remembers the feel of the soft carpet against her bare feet. She doesn't think, doesn't feel, turns everything off except the memory of what it felt like to be small, curled up under a heavy piece of furniture, protected behind a sheet of damask fabric.

Someone is touching her, hands run up and down her arms and legs but she doesn't feel it. She isn't here, her body simply a shell she's left behind. Words drift over her head, fly away like butterflies before she can divine their meaning. She's vaguely aware that she's in water, her body heavy and warm but she doesn't concern herself with why.

Lux floats, eyelids gently closing, curled up against something solid and warm but she's not here anyway, she's lying on the floor in her old house where she's safe, where no one can find her.

And she doesn't feel a thing.


	12. your frame went limp in my arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it takes me another two months to post the next chapter you all have my permission to yell at me in the comments.

At some point she must fall asleep because Lux wakes up like she's been stabbed with adrenaline, heart slamming against her chest, air filling her lungs in a panicked gasp.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Arms come around her from behind, pulling her against a strongly muscled chest.

She's on a bed, she's dressed in a large flannel shirt that she has no memory of putting on. She knows this feeling, she's woken up to this feeling for years and it never gets easier - something bad has happened, to her, to her body, and it hurts and she's so afraid she can't-

"Breathe," the voice says.

She gasps and gasps, trying to move, but the arms hold her so tightly and she chokes and sobs until she can't breath anymore and then there is nothing.

When she comes back to consciousness again it's a slow fade in, dark shadows resolving into a dresser, a bed, Sam and Dean huddled in a corner talking in hushed voices. Lux presses her face into the pillow and pulls her knees up to her chest. She feels raw, fragile, like her skin might peel off if someone touches her. She wants to go back to sleep, her one escape from reality, but her body aches and her chest is too tight and Dean's already noticed that she's awake.

Lux watches him out of the corner of her eye as he moves towards her slowly, hands held palm up at his sides. He sinks down on the end of the bed but he doesn't touch her, just rests his palms on his thighs and gives her this soft look that makes her shiver.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asks, his voice low and gravely.

She doesn't say anything because what's the point? There's nothing to say.

This is her life. This is who she is, the person she's been forced into becoming. A cursed girl, a pretty little shell, something for men to break and bend to their will.

He exhales roughly. "Look, we can't stay here anymore. It's not - safe. For you. Sam found a new place for us to stay while you were sleeping. It's time to go."

His words wash over her without really registering. It's strange how quickly she's gotten used to this, Dean hauling her around from place to place, being told where to go and when. It's still better than before, but now she can see it - all the days of the future stretched out in front of her, a life filled with pain and fear, completely dependent on this one man to keep her safe.

"Lux?" Dean whispers. "Can you hear me?"

She sniffs and rolls onto her hands and knees to push herself up. She crosses her legs under herself, staring resolutely down at the bedspread. "Yeah," she whispers.

"Okay." Dean stands up from the bed. "We already packed up the car, lets go."

She makes it to the edge of the bed before her throat closes up, tears pooling in her eyes. She can't go back out there. She can't do it, she can't go back out into that hallway. Dean reaches for her and she flinches, curling over on her side.

"I can't," she whimpers. "I can't go out there."

"Lux," Dean says softly. "C'mon, we're both here, it's okay."

She presses her hands flat against the sides of her head, feeling her heartbeat pound in her temples. "Please, I can't."

Dean runs a hand over his face, looking helplessly at Sam, who tilts his head and approaches the bed. "Hey Lux, do you think you can stand up for me?"

She sniffs, wiping the back of her hand under her nose. "What?"

"Like at the cafe, remember?" 

"Yeah," she mumbles.

Sam holds his big hands out, palm up, and gives her a very soft encouraging look. She slides her eyes sideways at Dean, who's leaning casually against the dresser, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Lux pulls herself up to her knees, drags her body up to stand on the edge of the bed, Sam in front of her, and tentatively winds her arms around his neck.

"Close your eyes," Sam whispers.

She obeys, flinching when she feels large warm hands cups the backs of her thighs and pick her up. She wraps her legs around his waist and buries her face in his chest, his arms solid against her. She grips the fabric of his shirt, trying not to think of what happened the last time she walked out of this room, how she wandered out into the hallway because she couldn't do it anymore, not without Dean.

But Dean came back. Dean found her and whispered soft things and held her like she was something precious and somehow that hurt worst of all, that he still believes in her, believes that she deserves this, all this kindness, like she's not hopeless, not cursed for eternity, a burden to everyone.

"There you go," Sam whispers. "I've got you."

Lux keeps her face firmly hidden, body cradled against his chest, and cries silently into the flannel of his shirt.

/

Lux falls asleep before they even get to the car. Dean collapses into the passenger seat, letting Sam deal with getting Lux into the back before he comes around to the driver's side.

"I can drive?" Sam asks, suspicious.

Dean shrugs, checking out Lux in the review mirror, curled into the fetal position in the backseat, the hem of his flannel shirt riding up her thighs. "You're the one who knows where we're going."

Sam nods and shifts the car into drive, and steers the Impala out of the parking lot. Dean stretches out his legs and swallows something thick in the back of his throat. Guilt has firmly settled in his stomach, he rolls his window down and sucks fresh air into his lungs but it doesn't make the lingering nausea go away. "How'd you find this place, anyway?"

Sam shrugs. "Asked around. I've met a few people."

Dean's too tired to probe further, he leans his head back against the headrest, temples throbbing.

"Does she always do that?" Sam asks, tilting his head back at Lux. "Sleep at weird times?"

"Kind of," Dean admits. He thinks of Lux that first morning, squinting in shock at the Arizona sun, running around in the rain squealing with delight. "She said they weren't allowed outside, I think her circadian rhythm got all fucked up."

"Probably," Sam agrees. "I, uh, read about this study once they did on kids who'd been through trauma when I was in school. Their brains would just shut down and they'd go to sleep sometimes, it's like, a way for them to escape I guess."

Dean grimaces, thinking of all the times Lux has fallen asleep in the passenger seat this week, or after having a crying fit or a nightmare, floating naked and barely conscious against him in the bathtub.

Sam drives them towards the French quarter and parks on a street in front of a small upscale looking condo building, painted a fresh white with black shutters. Dean glances at Sam in surprise. "This is where we're staying?"

"Yeah," Sam says casually, turning off the engine and handing the keys to Dean.

"How'd you swing this?" Dean asks.

Sam ducks his head, looking away. "Don't worry about it."

Dean laughs and pats Sam's shoulder. "That's my boy."

Dean lets Sam deal with the bags. He opens up the backseat and pulls Lux into his lap and slides out of the car hiking her up on her hip and covering the top of her head so she doesn't hit it on the door. Her head pops up, she blinks sleepily at him. Dean gently pushes her head back down to his shoulder and watches her eyes flutter shut, feels her body sag against him as she slips back under.

"Keys," Sam says.

Dean hands them over and Sam unlocks the floor to a ground level door, pushes it open and nods for Dean to follow him. It's an nice place, airy, lots of windows. They're in an open concept living room and kitchen, fully furnished, a hallway off the other ending leading to what Dean assumes are the bedrooms. Dean marvels at whatever Sam had to do to snap this place up and crosses the room to lay Lux down on a soft grey suede couch. She whimpers and rolls over, pressing her face into a throw pillow, bare legs curled against her chest.

Sam throws a duffle bag at him and Dean unzips it, pulls out a large canister of salt. He gets to work on all the windows, lining the sills with salt as Sam flips up the rug to paint a devil's trap on the floor. They continue with their routine, moving down the hall where there are two bedrooms with attached bathrooms on either side of the hallway.

"Seriously, how did you pull this off?" Dean asks.

Sam sighs. "The usual. Fake identity, fake credit reports, the works. The lease is month-to-month so we've got flexibility."

Dean exhales, trying to envision staying here, staying anywhere other than the bunker for more than a few days.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks. "Do we need to talk about anything?"

"I'm starving," Dean deflects briskly, walking back towards the main room. "I saw a pizza place a few blocks away, l'll walk over and pick up dinner."

"Dean"-

"I'll be right back Sam, I just need to take a walk and get some food."

Sam glances uneasily at Lux, who's still asleep on the couch. "I don't know if leaving is a good idea right now."

"It's fine," Dean dismisses. "I'll be back in half an hour, it'll be fine."

"What if she wakes up?"

"She probably won't, she really hasn't been sleeping much."

Sam looks exasperated. "But what if she does?"

"Then deal with it," Dean snaps. "Look, I need a break okay? I'm just getting a pizza, I swear."

"Fine," Sam mutters. "Whatever."

"I didn't ask for this," Dean says defensively. "This, _her_ , wasn't my idea, okay? I'm doing the best that I can."

His brother frowns and leans against the kitchen island. "I know."

Dean exhales, patting his back pocket to make sure he has his wallet. "I'll be back soon, okay?"

Sam shrugs, nodding, and Dean sighs, lets himself out and walks outside. He rubs his eyes, cracks his neck and walks in the direction of the pizza place. The sun is starting to set, the sky is brilliant shades of peach and gold. It makes him feel enraged, that there's beauty here, that the sky would dare remind him that good still exists, when there's a broken girl on his couch that Dean can't fix.

He finds the pizza parlor easily, orders a large half pepperoni /half veggie pizza for him and Sam and a small plain cheese pizza for Lux. He waits on a wooden chair against the windows, head tilted back. There's something about this feeling, when the worst has happened and there's nothing he can do but keep moving, keep going forward against the weight of his failure.

Dean pays with cash when they call his order, walks back briskly to the condo, the heat from the pizza boxes sinking into his hands. He balances them in one hand and takes out his keys, unlocks the front door with the shiny new key Sam must have put on the key ring. He walks into the condo and shuts the door with his boot, freezing when he sees what's happening.

Lux is awake, she's sitting next to Sam on the edge of the couch, curled against his side. She's not crying, not exactly, but it's somehow worse, she's making these weird gulping sounds like she can't get any air, her face pale and eyes wide.

"Hey," Sam says evenly, one of his hands rubbing Lux's shoulder. "Someone missed you."

Dean walks to the the kitchen island and puts down the pizzas, wanders over to the coffee table a few feet in front of the couch. He sits down on the edge facing Lux, giving Sam a quick glance. Sam clears his throat and gets up, heads towards the kitchen and begins opening a plastic wrapped set of paper plates.

Lux is staring at Dean, still making these horrible little noises, like she doesn't have enough energy to properly cry. 

"Hey," Dean says softly. "You okay?"

Lux gasps, her fingers curled over the couch cushions. "Where - were - you?"

Dean reaches out and unpeeled her fingers from the cushions. "I just went to pick up dinner."

"No." She shakes her head, blond waves flying across her face. "Where _were_ you?"

"Lux," he murmurs, reaching for her, and she bursts into tears.

"Okay," Dean says, and moves over to the couch, pulling her into his lap. "It's okay."

She goes limp, legs dangling on either side of his thighs, her face buried in the side of his neck. Dean clenches his jaw because this is his fault, he left her and she thought he was never coming back. He promised he'd never let her get hurt and he broke it.

"I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm so sorry."

"You promised," she whimpers into his skin. "You _promised_."

"I know." He shuts his eyes against tears of shame. "I know I did."

She huffs into his throat, tears slowing down until she's breathing quietly against him, cheek resting on his shoulder. She's got the hem of his shirt clutched in her hand like a security blanket and Dean feels a little crack of hope, that she still trusts him, still clings to him for comfort. Sam comes over and quietly places three paper plates of pizza on the coffee table next to his open laptop. He walks over to the tv hanging on the opposite wall and turns it on, finds a remote and walks back to sit in an armchair near the couch. 

No one says anything, Sam flicks through the guide and stops at an old animated movie, The Fox and the Hound. Sam raises an eyebrow and Dean shrugs; Sam puts down the remote and picks up his pizza. Lux turns her head incrementally towards the tv screen, unable to resist the movie, shifting to curl up against his side, her legs stretched over his thighs. Dean reaches for his pizza and eats one handed, the other arm wrapped around Lux.

The strange thing is how _not_ strange it feels, here with both of them, his brother and the girl Heaven has assigned to him. There's a peaceful sort of silence between them all, watching the movie together. Dean feels something settle in his chest, he wipes his fingers on a paper napkin and reaches for Lux's untouched plate. He snags a single piece and holds it out to her, right in front of her mouth.

She shakes her head, turning to press her face into his stomach. He sighs, relieved that Sam is suddenly absorbed with something on his laptop. Dean bends down, lowers his lips to her ear. "Just one piece. Please?"

She turns her head slightly to blink up at him, goosebumps covering his arms at the sight of her blue eyes, like he'll never get used to it, how ethereal and strange they are, foreign oceans he could fall into. He holds the pizza up to her lips and she obediently takes the tiniest bite, over-chews before swallowing and takes another bite. She eats the whole piece that way, turning her head away when she finishes to watch the movie.

Dean rolls his neck and drops it back against the couch, lets himself drift off to the comfort of Sam nearby and Lux curled around him, broken and hurt but still clinging to him with everything she has.


	13. to keep you home, to keep you safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have a total chapter count worked out whattttt

Dean wakes up on a couch, his neck turned at an awkward angle against the armrest. There's a moment where he doesn't realize where he is, total disorientation, unable to reconcile the giant flatscreen playing MSNBC on mute with the shifty motel rooms he frequents. He stretches, pulling himself up, and the room resolves - he's in the condo Sam rented for then, sunlight streaming in through the windows behind the couch. He rubs his eyes and glances over at the kitchen area, relaxing when he sees Lux and Sam.

His brother is drinking coffee out of a mug, leaning up against the island. Lux is sitting up on a stool next to him, still wearing Dean's flannel but he can see denim cutoffs peeking out under the hem. There's a newspaper spread out between them, Sam's pointing at something with his free hand and talking in a low voice while Lux looks up at him with big eyes.

Dean stretches and rolls off the couch, stumbling over towards the kitchen island.

"Hey," Sam says easily. "Coffee?"

Dean nods, watching Sam pour him a cup from a coffeemaker he didn't notice last night, Sam must have gotten the kitchen stocked before they got here yesterday.

"Thanks," he mutters, taking the mug and easing onto a stool next to Lux. She doesn't look at him, doesn't say anything, but he can feel the warm weight of her body next to his and it's enough, knowing she's here, safe if not whole.

"So, hey," Sam says. "I talked to Emma."

Dean squints at the familiar name but he comes up empty. "Emma?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "My friend? From the library?"

Dean takes a sip of coffee and slumps over the counter. "So?"

"She got me a job," Sam says. "Uh, it's at a tutoring center, she works there part-time."

Dean rubs his temples. He's still not used to Sam being here with him and Lux, the reality of the situation heavy on his shoulders. "A job?"

"It pays cash," Sam says quickly. "I figured you guys could take a little breather for a few days, I'll do some research when I'm done over there."

Dean can only blink at him, not awake enough to think straight. "Okay."

"Okay." Sam bobs his head. His phone beeps and he checks it before chugging back his coffee. "Gotta go, Emma's waiting outside. See you this afternoon?"

"Okay," Dean says again, numb and relieved all over again to have Sam here taking charge.

Sam offers him a wry grin, pockets his phone and walks out the front door, leaving Dean alone with Lux. She shifts on her stool, idly tracing her fingers over the newspaper. Dean drinks his coffee silently, feeling awkward next to her. He walks around the island to refill his mug, flips open the cabinets to reveal a few boxes of cereal, a bag of nasty looking healthy granola for Sam. He pours a bowl of Cinnamon Crunch and tops it off with the milk he finds in the fridge.

"You eat breakfast yet?" he asks Lux, taking a plastic spoon from a box sitting on the island.

She shakes her head, refusing to look up at him.

Dean sighs, swirls his spoon around. "You hungry?"

She ignores him completely, hops off her stool and wanders back over to the couch. She flops down on her side, curls her knees to her chest and grabs the remote to flip through the channels.

"Okay," Dean mutters. So that's where they're at.

He eats his cereal in silence, watching Lux skim through channels and finally select a chick flick playing on Bravo. Dean pour another cup of coffee, stirs in a little milk and drinks it standing up next to the island. He does a lap around the room, checking salt lines, wanders into the hallway where the bedrooms are. They're both furnished blandly: cream painted walls, queen sized beds with neutral colored duvets, plain black nightstands.

He meanders back to the living room where Lux hadn't moved, still curled tightly up on the couch with her head on a cushion, staring blankly at the tv. Dean crosses over to the kitchen, opening cabinets to explore. Cereal, crackers, granola, bags of pretzels and potato chips. He moves on to the next one and _jackpot_ : whiskey.

Dean pours a few shots worth of liquor into a plastic cup and chugs it back, well aware that it's barely ten in the morning because it's five o'clock somewhere, right? He can't get through a full day like this without a buzz, the walls and silence suddenly oppressive. He takes a deep breath and rubs his temples.

"Hey," he says loudly. When Lux doesn't react he walks to the center of the room and stands in front of her so he's blocking her view of the tv. "I'm going to take a shower, okay?"

She shrugs, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Lux." He leans in towards her and Lux recoils, covering her face with the throw pillow. Dean blinks at her, her fingers digging into the cushioned fabric. He reaches out and very carefully lays his hand over the top of her head. "It's okay," he whispers.

She peeks out over the edge of the cushion. "Can I come with you?"

He raises a surprised eyebrow. "To shower?"

Her eyes drop down to his chest and she shakes her head quickly. "I just..." she chickens out and ducks back behind the pillow.

"No, come on." He gets ahold of the pillow and pries it out of her hands. She blinks up at him, looking so young and old at the same time: big blue eyes in that narrow face, pouty lips chalky and cracked. "Come on, you can tell me."

She blinks heavily, eyes darting up at the ceiling. "I don't want to be in the room alone."

He frowns, sitting on the edge of the couch, pillow in his lap. "Nothing's gonna happen. The doors and everything are locked, trust me, Sam and I know what we're doing. No one even knows we're here."

She squeezes her eyes shut and Dean can sense her impending meltdown, can feel the tremors in her body before they even start. He tosses the pillow aside and finds her hands, curls his fingers around hers and squeezes.

"Hey, it's fine," he says. "Come on."

She lets out a shuddering sigh but she stands up with him, their hands linked, and walk down the hall to one of the bathrooms. Dean flips on the light and the overhead fan whirs to life. Lux swings up on the counter next to the sink, back against the mirror, and crosses her legs. Dean finds a clean towel folded on a shelf and strips quickly, aware of her eyes on him as Dean climbs into the shower. He turns the water on and waits for it to get hot before ducking under it.

Sam's left shampoo and soap on the lip of the tub and Dean quickly washes, unnerved by the presence of Lux so close, her body a shadow behind the vinyl shower curtain. She's right there when he gets out, looking innocently up at the ceiling while he towels off and wraps it around his hips. Lux trails after him as he sticks his head in one of the bedrooms, finding his duffle on the floor at the foot of the bed. He changes into clean clothes while Lux hangs out in the doorway, back turned to give him privacy.

They go back to the main room, Lux flops back down on the couch, curling up into one corner. Dean sighs and sits down next to her, whiskey warm in his stomach but it's not really enough to soothe him. He doesn't know how to do this, relax, be normal, move through his day without any kind of purpose or immediate goal. It's obvious Lux needs a break but he feels itchy, like he needs to go for a run or shank a few demons just to work out the energy.

"Hey," he tries again. "You need breakfast."

"Not hungry." She's back to not looking at him, pretending to be absorbed with the tv.

"Lux, c'mon."

"It doesn't matter," she mumbles. She stretches and points her toes, draping her feet across his lap.

Dean reaches down and strokes her ankle. "It matters to me."

"Maybe it shouldn't," she whispers.

"Hey." When she doesn't say anything he squeezes her ankle. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I tried to tell you," she says softly. "You can't fix me. You're wasting your time."

"You're not a waste of time," he protests. "You - this is my _job_ , kid. Saving people. I'm not walking away from this."

She turns her head to finally look at him and Dean's stomach clenches. She's crying silently, sad little tears rolling down her cheeks. "I feel like they took everything from me," she confesses.

He leans down, wedging his body between her and the back of the couch. She turns into him, pressing her damp cheek into his chest. Dean sighs and strokes her hair, remembering the first night they slept in a bed together, Lux falling asleep on him. "No, baby," he whispers, feeling her shudder against her. "You and me - no one can take that from you. Okay?"

She sniffs and blinks up at him before squeezing her eyes shut, tears spilling over her cheeks. "Okay," she whispers back, and presses her face into his chest.

/

Lux can feels Dean's relief when Sam comes back that afternoon, the tension in his shoulders evaporating, the restless energy suddenly settling. She can tell this is hard for him, the stillness, the quiet, the incessant chatter coming from the tv. A week ago it would have unnerved her, made her wary and afraid but there are so many things to be afraid of that are a hell of a lot scarier than Dean Winchester.

She stays on the couch while Dean walks over to the kitchen area to greet his brother. She hasn't been able to eat all day, her stomach cramping every time she glances at the door, thinking about what happens when this ends - when Dean finally accepts that the curse is unbreakable, understands that he's vowed to save an un-savable girl. 

He's left before, he can do it again.

She curls up tighter against the corner of the couch, wishing she could fold her body right into the cushions and disappear forever.

Dean wanders back over to her while Sam drops his backpack on the kitchen island, bending over to rifle through its contents. Lux glances at him out of the corner of her eye, peeking out through her curtain of hair. Dean sinks down onto the couch, lifting her feet and pulling her legs out to spread them over his lap.

"Would you be okay here with Sam if I went to pick up dinner?" His thumbs run over her ankles, sliding in between the hollows of her bones and Lux thinks about waking up in that motel room with her feet in his hands, how she'd slid over to his lap and pressed her lips against his, explored his mouth with her finger.

It feels like forever ago even through it's only been a few days. How long has it been since she was taken from _them_ and given to Dean, anyway? A week, maybe a little more?

One week of freedom, one week without cages and Mother and sleeping two to a cot in the freezing basement. One week with the taste of freedom on the tip of her tongue.

"Lux?" 

She does a full body twitch at the sound of his voice, his hands tightening around her ankles so she can't kick him. "What?"

Dean squints at her. "Did you hear what I said?"

She shakes her head against the residual ache in her temples. "What?"

He sighs, tracing the contours of her feet with his fingers. "Are you going to be okay here with Sam if I run out and grab dinner for us?"

She nods, pressing her cheek against the throw pillow. She knows it bothers him when she gets like this, wordless, non-responsive, but she can't help it, it's like muscle memory, a survival instinct, to make herself as small and non-threatening as possible and maybe then men wouldn't want to tear her to pieces.

"You could come with," he suggests.

She glances at the front door, imagining men with teeth like wolves waiting on their front step for her. "No."

"Lux"-

"I'm not going." She yanks her feet out of his grip, ignoring the hurt look on his face.

He doesn't argue with her, just nods briskly and gets up, goes back over to where Sam is sitting at the kitchen island and says something too low for Lux to hear before sticking his feet into his shoes and walking out the door without a glance back at her.

 _That_ stings but it's understandable. If she was stuck inside all day with some pathetic kid who depended on her for survival she'd probably get frustrated too.

Lux turns back to the tv, watching a movie on silent so she can listen to Sam moving around the kitchen. He opens the fridge, takes out a beer and cracks it but only takes a sip before putting it down on a coaster. He unzips his backpack and pulls out a laptop, plugging it into a cord and powering it up. She stays on the couch, waiting for him to try to get her to eat something or go outside but he just does work, like she's not even here, his long legs stretched out on the stool next to him.

Eventually she gets bored enough that she turns off the tv and wanders over to the kitchen, opens the fridge and pretends to scan its contents before closing it and filling up a glass with water, leaning against the island to drink it.

"Hey," Sam says, looking up to give her a soft smile before glancing back down at his laptop. "How're you doing?"

She shrugs, tracing her finger around the condensation on the glass. "What're you doing?"

"Making a book list," he says vaguely. 

"For what?" she asks before she can stop herself. She used to have a wall of books in her old bedroom, she used to love to read. She hasn't had a book since sixth grade, the last year she was in school.

"Oh, it's for this job, I'm tutoring English lit." Sam suddenly squints at her before opening up his backpack and pulling out a slim paperback. "You ever read this one?"

Lux reaches out carefully, waiting for him to pull the book back, like he's tricking her, but Sam just pushes it into her hands. She smooths her hand over the cover, feeling the embossed title: The Westing Game, by Ellen Raskin. 

"No," she murmurs. She has that feeling, that warm hopeful unfamiliar feeling deep in her chest, like that first night she and Dean had dinner together and he'd told her _you're with me now_.

"Do you want to?" Her head snaps up. Sam's giving her his usual gentle smile, like it's not a big deal, like he's not offering her something illicit, something she hasn't held in her hands since she was a child.

She picks it up, testing the weight of it in her hands. "Is it good?"

"Yeah." Sam pushes his hair off his forehead, a nostalgic expression on his face. "I really liked it when I was a kid."

"Can I read it now?" She's afraid that she sounds too eager, that he'll know that she wants it and he'll make her work for it.

But he just shrugs and types something, reaching for his beer with one hand, marker that matches Dean's tattoo scrawled over his skin. "Sure."

She clutches the book to her chest and walks back around the counter, stopping cold when Sam lays a hand over her wrist. "Wait," he says, and produces a granola bar out of his backpack, pushing it into her hands. "Reading is better with a snack."

"Thanks," she whispers. 

Sam smiles and pats her hand. "Don't be too hard on Dean, okay? He's not good with all this stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Feeling stuff," Sam says. "He feels really bad about what happened."

Her chest tightens. "It wasn't his fault."

"It wasn't your fault either," he says softly. 

She shifts awkwardly, staring down at the floor. "Can I go read now?"

He makes a small noise, like he really wants to say something else, but he just nods and pats her hand again. "Sure."

She shuffles over to the couch and tosses the granola bar on the coffee table, nestles into the corner of the couch and opens the book to the first page: _The sun sets in the west (just about everyone knows that) but Sunset Towers faced east. Strange!_

/

When Dean comes back to the condo with a brown paper bag filled with thick deli sandwiches and cardboard containers of soup Sam is sitting at the kitchen island doing something on his computer. Lux is on the couch but the tv's off, she's lying on her side facing the back so all he can see of her is a cascade of blonde waves and the bare backs of her thighs and calves.

"Hey," Sam says quietly, glancing up and shutting his computer. 

"Hey." Dean kicks his shoes off and walks over to the kitchen, sets the bag down on the island. "What's she doing?"

"Reading a book."

"Where'd she get a book?"

Sam rolls his eyes at him. "I gave to to her, the tutoring center has a library."

"Oh." Dean squints over Sam's shoulder where he can see a better angle of Lux, her head resting on a throw pillow, lost in a paperback.

"Hey, I need to show you something." Sam glances back at Lux before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a folder, one finger held over his lips.

Dean cocks an eyebrow, reaching across the island to take the folder from him. "What is this?"

Sam widens his eyes and jerks his head back toward Lux before tapping his lips again. Dean smirks, eyes rolling at Sam before flipping the folder open. He picks up the top page, frowning at the printed black and white paper. It's a police report, filed in Silver Spring, Maryland. It's a crime report, of a murder, from nine years ago. A woman named Marie Lawson, 42, was murdered by her husband, Robert Lawson, 46, in their home on April 12, at approximately 3:56pm.

"Sam," Dean starts.

"Just keep reading," Sam mutters. "And keep your voice down."

Dean sighs and glances back down at the report. The guy was a congressman, a totally straight-laced normal looking white dude with a pretty blond wife and a daughter who never committed even a traffic violation until April 12, when he apparently left work early, picked his daughter up from school, took her home and threw his wife down the stairs, where she broke her neck. The neighbors called in a noise complaint when they heard screaming coming from the house, the cops showed up to what they thought was a domestic dispute and found a crime scene.

The wife was found where she landed at the bottom of the stairs. The daughter was gone, there's a notation, a case number, written above her name. The husband apparently took the car and drove for hours before showing up at the Silver Spring police station and turning himself in.

"Read the next page," Sam says in a low voice.

Dean flips over to it and he goes cold, suddenly understanding why Sam wants him to be quiet. It's a missing person's report, of the daughter, filed by the police after her father confessed to the murder but insisted he had no idea what had happened to his daughter, who was never apparently found. Her name was Annabelle, she was twelve, in sixth grade at a private Catholic school. She was last seen getting picked up by her father in the school parking lot the afternoon he murdered her mother.

There's a photo attached. It's a standard school photo, the same blue background as every school photo, of a girl wearing a school uniform, pale blue button down and a navy and green striped tie. Her blond hair is pulled back from her face in long twin braids and her eyes are huge and a mysterious sparkling shade of blue. There's a hint of a dimple in her cheek and she’s looking right at the camera with an adorable shy smile.

It's Lux.


	14. I am the heart that you call home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's safe to say that this is the year I finally get this finished!

Lux falls asleep on the couch after dinner with an old Audrey Hepburn movie playing in the background. Dean grabs a six pack and angles his head toward the little glassed-in balcony off of the kitchen. Sam pockets his phone and follows him outside, quietly sliding the door closed so he doesn't wake Lux up.

Her police file is buried at the bottom of Dean's duffle but he sees it every time he shuts his eyes - that young innocent face, the face of a girl about to be destroyed and remade into someone small and fearful and broken, a girl for men to use.

Sam cracks open a beer and takes a long pull. “So, I take it you didn't know anything about her family.”

Dean shakes his head, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “She - I asked her about it once and I could just tell, from the look of her face. She never talks about it. All I know is that when she was twelve she ended up with them.”

“Where Cas took her from?”

“Yeah”

Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “She's twenty-one.”

“She probably lost track of time, while she was there.”

“Do you… do you know why she's so small? She barely looks sixteen.”

Dean rubs his eyes. “They, uh… they got her at twelve, and I guess they, they wanted her to - to stay like that. To look like that. For the - clients.”

“They starved her?”

Dean nods stiffly, remembering the way Lux had looked at him that first morning when they'd gotten breakfast, terrified, waiting to be punished. 

“That's fucked up,” Sam says hoarsely.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “How'd you find her, anyway?”

Sam shrugs. “I searched for missing children. You said she was in DC, so I kept it to the east coast, and when going back seven years didn't hit on anything I kept going, until…”

They drink in silence for a few minutes and then Sam leans back in his chair. “Are you in love with her?”

Dean chokes on his beer. “Jesus Christ, Sam. Don't be ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Sam pushes. “Dean, come on, I'm not blind. I see the way you look at her. You spent an entire week together, you got a freaking tattoo for her, are you seriously telling me nothing happened between you?”

_Lux, falling asleep in his arms._

_Holding her down on the mattress, hypnotized by her curse._

_A crown of butterflies and the smell of magic._

_Her fingers in his mouth, his hands on her stomach._

_You're my favorite person on the planet._

“Come on, since when do I fall in love?” he says, all cocky bravado, a fake smile.

Sam sneers and looks away. “Keep lying to yourself, Dean.”

“Sam, come on, she's just” -

“Just a very pretty, young girl who's clearly emotionally attached to you?”

“It's not - it's not _me_ , she'd feel that way about - I just happened to be the first person who didn't treat her like trash in like - fuck, nine years I guess. She, you know, she imprinted on me.”

Sam snorts into his beer. “She's not a duckling, Dean.”

“She's - look, her and I, we can never - we aren't normal people, Sam. We're never going to be.”

“So what's the plan, then?”

“At this point?” Dean tilts his head back and chugs his beer. “Who fucking knows?”

/

Lux wakes up on the couch in the morning, sunlight warm on her face. Sam is apparently gone, Dean’s sitting at the island with a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee, watching some show she doesn't recognize on mute. She stretches and rolls off the couch, ambles over to him and leans up against his side.

“Morning sunshine,” he drawls, not looking at her. “You want breakfast?”

She shrugs, looking hopefully at his coffee. Dean sighs, shooting her a sideways glance, and passes her the mug. 

“Thanks.” She feels better with it in her hands, having something to do. She still doesn't know how to just _be_ with him, every moment always feels so fraught with tension.

She doesn't know to be a normal girl, especially not around Dean. He's the only person she's ever wanted. She didn't think she'd ever want anyone, not like this. But a lot of things have happened to her this week that she thought were impossible.

She takes another sip and passes the mug back to him. “I'm going to take a shower.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He leans back and raises an eyebrow at her. “You need help?”

She scowls. “I'm not a child.”

A strange expression crosses over his face and he looks away. “I know.”

She swallows and walks away, feeling the heat of his eyes on her the entire time it takes for her to cross the living room and escape into the bedroom that she guesses is for her and Dean, even though they haven't slept in the bed since they got here. She goes into the bathroom and turns on the fan, takes off her clothes and stares at herself in the mirror. Her hair is a mess of tangled waves and her skin looks translucent, bruised circles under her eyes. She slides her hands down the sides of her body, her skin still feels raw, too sensitive, like she can still feel the mens’ hands all over her. She reaches down and pinches the thin skin of her stomach, watching it turn red and and wash out to white again.

She steps into the shower and turns the water on, tilts her head back and runs soapy fingers through her hair. She tries not to think about Dean in the other room. Dean, with his strong steady hands and cocky smile and soft whispered words. 

She can feel the future looming over her like a great black mass, a black hole she'll inevitably fall into. Dean doesn't need her, she's useless, she can't expect him to keep taking care of her, not forever.

She takes her time in the shower, stepping out when the water turns cold. She wraps a towel around herself, wrings water out of her hair over the sink and pads back to the bedroom. Dean’s duffle bag is on the floor by the foot of the bed. Lux crouches down and unzips it, starts to dig through the clothes. She plucks her denim cutoffs from a pile of clothes and tosses them on the floor, finds her underwear. She decides to take one of Dean's shirts because he doesn't seem to mind and she likes how they feel on her, like she's wearing a layer of armor. She pulls at the sleeve of a grey tee and accidentally upends a blank beige folder, a small pile of paper spilling over a flannel shirt.

“Shit,” she whispers. She picks up the papers to put them away and freezes, shins pressed against the floor, bitterness rising in the back of her throat because -

That's her. The girl, that picture, it's her sixth grade school portrait. She traces her own face, the room spinning around her, and reaches for the next page and some broken sound tears out of her because it's _him_ , and then his face spins too, and then there's nothing but darkness.

/

Dean gives Lux forty minutes before he starts to panic, his tattoo too tight over his skin, dread inexplicably rising in his chest. She's been acting strange, well, stranger than normal, since _it_ happened, alternately clingly and withdrawn. He knows it's happened to her before then, it was her entire life for nine years, but what happened in that motel room seems to have broken something in her, some final nihilist acceptance of her fate that makes him feel sick to his stomach.

He crosses the living room and knocks on the closed door to the bedroom. “Lux?”

No answer.

When he turns the knob the door is unlocked. Lux is sitting on the floor with her back against the foot of the bed, wrapped up in a towel, wet hair slicked back from her face. Her eyes are dead and blank and she's shivering, arms crossed over her shins with her chin resting on her knees. Dean approaches with his hands out, like he's trying to catch a wounded animal. He gets close enough to kneel down near where she is when he sees it - her police file, spread out over his duffle.

“Aw shit,” he mumbles, crawling next to her. Lux doesn't register his presence, curled up tightly next to him.

He gets an arm around her and slowly puts himself in between her and the bed and gets her up against his chest, and wraps his arms around her. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “You weren't supposed to see that.”

Lux shakes and shakes and he doesn't know what to do so he just holds her, because he did this - he left her and Sam alone in that motel room, he broke his promise, he left the reminder of her history somewhere she could find it. He combs his fingers through her wet hair, grabs the blanket from the bed and slowly peels away the towel to bundle her up in the comforter. She finally sighs and leans her head back against his chest, her hands creeping out from the blanket to clutch at his.

“He knew her,” she finally says, her voice small and fragile. “My dad. The witch who cursed me.”

Revenge, Dean thinks, and holds her tighter, remembering what the witch Mariah had said about the curse. _It’s vile._

“I don't know why she did it,” she whispers. “I think they were having an affair, maybe. I don't know, I was just a kid then.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “You were.”

She shudders against his chest. “I don't know what he did to her but she - I didn't even have to _be_ there. He picked me up from school and I knew - I knew something was wrong. He wouldn't look at me. He took me home and - there was a woman waiting for us. We went inside. He… my mother was upstairs. He went upstairs to - to tell her, I guess. What he did. What happened. And then….”

“Lux, you don't have to” -

“She just started _screaming_. She tried to stop him, so…”

“He killed her.”

Lux nods robotically. “The woman took me away. I was still…” she inhales hard. “Wearing my uniform. Fucking plaid skirt and everything.”

“I don't think I've ever heard you say that before,” he says dumbly.

“Fuck,” she says emphatically. “She - she took me away and… you know what happened after.”

Dean rests his chin lightly on the top of her head. “Do you remember the night Cas brought you to me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why… you had blood all over you.”

She shivers. “I - I’d been good. I - Mother trusted me to help with the dishes one night. I took a knife, this long, skinny knife, she wasn't looking and I put it down my dress. And then the next time she brought me to - to a _client_ \- I used it. I wasn't - it wasn't even this conscious decision, I just couldn't…. I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't care if he killed me. I just needed it to be over.”

She tips her head straight back to look at him with cloudy eyes. “And then he came. Your friend. He just - appeared.”

“Yeah, Cas has a tendency to show up without warning.”

“He held out his hands to me and he - he was talking but I couldn't really follow what he was saying, I was… and then he put his hands around me and then… you were there.”

“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. “I remember that part.”

“I thought you were a client,” she whispers. “At first.”

He grips a fistful of her hair. “You know that you - I’d never - _ever_ ” -

“I know,” she whispers, and to his surprise she reaches up and cups her hand over his cheek, thumb hooking under his jaw. “It's why I want you so much.”

He shuts his eyes for a second. “Lux…”

“I’m not a child, Dean. I haven't been a kid in a really long time.”

He nods painfully. “You know you're actually twenty-one?”

She blinks at him. “Really?”

“Yeah, it says so in your paperwork.”

A tiny smug expression appears on her face. “I told you I wasn't a kid.”

He nods in concession. “You did.”

She blinks again, her fingers rubbing absentmindedly over his cheekbone. “Now what do we do?”

He manages a smile and drops a kiss to the top of her head. “You eat breakfast and then we commemorate all your missed birthdays with a drink. Since you're legal, now. Sound like a plan?”

She smiles and Dean's falling, he's helpless against this girl who's both half women and half child. Innocent and defiled at the same time, strangely wise yet naive in so many ways. Cursed and beautiful, terrifying but defenseless.

“Okay then,” he says, faking confidence, because that's all he can do, maintain the illusion that he's under control. 

Pretend he knows what he's doing even though he's lost, because he has to keep his shit together, for her. 

Because he can lie to Sam all he wants but it's becoming increasingly clear that when it comes to Lux, there's nothing he wouldn't do.


	15. it rakes at my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been awhile but I'm still here and I hope you are too :)

The first night Dean and Lux actually manage to both fall asleep in the bed together in one of the bedrooms of the condo he wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of her sobbing into her pillow, deep and muffled. He slides across the mattress and lays one hand over her back between her shoulder blades, feeling the bones in her spine against his palm. She's wearing one of his tee shirts, no bra, and those little white briefs, her whole body curled up in a tight little ball. It's been a strange few days since they got here, since she opened up that file, all her old secrets exposed in black and white, the revelation that she lost nine years of her life to the organization, that she really isn't a kid or even a teenager, a young woman who grew up in a cage.

It's still hard to believe, when she's so small, so childlike, but police files don't lie, and parts of Lux are making more sense now: her insistence that she's not a child, how she has moments of seeming strangely mature, old beyond her years. She's a bit of a paradox he supposes, because it's not like anything in his life can ever be simple.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice.

She doesn't react to him so he lays there next to her, eyes half shut, feeling the rise and fall of her back under his hand as she cries. Eventually Lux sniffs and rolls over onto her stomach, and turns her head just enough to crack one eye at him. “Nine years,” she whispers.

“That's a long time,” he offers cautiously.

“Yeah,” she agrees, and starts to cry again, bringing one hand up to cover her eyes. 

“Lux” -

“What am I going to do?” she sobs. “What am I going to do?”

“Hey, hey, stop that.” He pulls her into him by the wrists, wrapping his arms securely around her to hold her against his chest. “Everything's going to be fine.”

“You don't know that,” she cries.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly. “I need you to trust me, okay? I am going to find a witch and we are going to break that curse, I don't care how long it takes.”

She lets out a shuddery sigh and tucks her head under his chin, lips just barely brushing against his throat. “And then what?”

He closes his eyes and breathes through the pressure in his chest. “One thing at a time, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers back, but they both lie there together for a very long time before they fall asleep again.

/

Sam comes back from his tutoring job one afternoon while Dean is out picking up dinner. Lux jumps at the sound of the door opening and then sinks back against the couch cushions when she sees that it's Sam, the strap of a messenger bag hanging over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he greets her, crossing over to the kitchen island to put down his stuff. “Where's Dean?”

“Getting dinner,” she says softly. 

She's gotten a little used to Sam over the past few days, she isn't as uncomfortable being alone with him but there's still a bit of tension - she doesn't know him the way she knows Dean, she can't quite let herself trust him. She sees the way he looks at her sometimes when he thinks she isn't looking, a mixture of pity and wariness.

She can't really blame him for being wary of a cursed girl (woman, her brain supplies too late. She's a woman now).

Sam unzips his bag and starts digging through it. “Hey, I brought something for you.”

“Another book?” she asks hopefully.

“Not this time.” He pulls out a sheath of papers stapled together. “I was wondering if you might be willing to take a crack at this.”

Lux eyes the papers in his hand. “You brought me homework.”

He laughs. “Not exactly.” He picks up a pen from the kitchen island and crosses the room to her. “It's kind of like a test.”

“A test?” she says doubtfully. “You know I haven't gone to school in practically a decade, right? I won't know any of the answers.”

“That's okay.” He sinks down on the opposite end of the couch. “It's not that kind of test. It doesn't measure what you know, it measures your ability to learn.”

“Huh?”

“Why don't you just try it?” He slides it across the coffee table to her. “Don't worry about getting the answers right, okay?”

She sighs and reaches over to mute the tv. “Why? I mean, what's the point, anyway?”

Sam reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. “You could go back to school one day, you know.”

“Right,” she snorts. “Sure.”

“Seriously,” he says. “I could tutor you, help you get your GED.”

“What's that?”

“It's like a high school diploma. You could go to college even, one day.”

Lux picks up the pen and twirls it between her fingers. “I can't even go outside.”

“Just - think about it, okay? One day, after we get the curse lifted” -

“Like that'll ever happen,” she mutters, and turns the volume of the tv back on.

/

When Dean come back to the condo with Chinese takeout, paper cartons full of chicken fried rice and spring rolls and Chinese beef and broccoli, Sam and Lux are sitting on opposite ends of the couch watching some chick flick on tv, Reese Witherspoon parading around in a tight pink sparkly dress leaning up against in a bench in a courtroom.

“Hey.” Sam stands up and stretches his long legs, walking over to the kitchen to get plates, ignoring the derisive look Dean shoots him over getting sucked into a chick flick. 

He walks over towards the couch and drops the food onto the coffee table before walking around and dropping down on the cushion next to Lux, who barely glances at him. She's curled up in a ball in the corner of the couch with her head on a throw pillow and her legs pulled in towards her chest. It's only been a little over a week (still unbelievable, he feels like it's been weeks, months of this) but she's just starting to fill out a little, her cheekbones a little less sharp, her knees no longer the widest parts of her legs.

“Hey.” He pokes her with his elbow and Lux pouts and curls up tighter. “Oh come on, what's with the lip?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles.

Sam comes back with plates and silverware and when Dean raises an eyebrow at him, tilting his head towards Lux, Sam just shrugs and shakes his head. Dean lets his brother portion everything out and pass the plates around, Lux shakes her head at first but when Dean raises an eyebrow she sighs and takes it from him, setting it on her lap and cutting her chicken into tiny cubes. Dean accepts the beer Sam hands him and leans back against the couch, and after awhile Lux shifts until she can curl into his side.

They fall into a strange rhythm that's just starting to get comfortable - Sam and Dean and the girl heaven gave to him, a cursed girl, a beautiful girl, pale and perfect and too young, with eyes that reflect back years of darkness.

How can Dean not want her, care about her, feel responsible for her? 

Save her.

Someone knocks on the the front door.

They all freeze, Sam lurches forward and grabs the remote to mute the movie, index finger pressed to his lips. Lux snuggles into Dean’s side, looking up at him with big eyes as they all hold their breath, listening.

Another knock.

Dean jumps up, pulling Lux over to Sam by her elbow as she lets out a surprised squeak. “Take her,” he growls. “Go into the bedroom, lock the door. Don't come out.”

“No,” Lux whimpers, reaching for him helplessly as Sam starts to drag her away. “No, Dean” -

“Go!” he snaps, and Sam yanks Lux out of the room even as she twists around, fruitlessly attempting to run back to Dean, her bare feet kicking out as he hauls her into the closest bedroom and slams the door shut.

Dean grabs a pistol and checks the clip before crossing the room, the gun held tightly in his right hand as he unlocks the door and opens it just a fraction of an inch, his body slumping against the doorway in relief when he recognizes that high forehead, those glossy black curls.

“Dean Winchester,” Mariah Williams coos, like she's absolutely delighted with herself. “You're a hard man to find, baby boy.”

/

In the bedroom Sam locks the door and looks around wildly before his eyes land on the attached bathroom. He presses his finger to his lips and ushers Lux inside, quietly shuts the door and locks that too.

Lux starts to cry, a cold rush of terror flooding through her at the thought of being taken away. She can't go back to _them_ , she won't survive it. She doubles over next to Sam, who shoots her an alarmed look before pulling her in front of him, her back to his chest.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispers apologetically. He wraps one long arm around her and presses his palm against her mouth to muffle the sounds of her sobs. “It's okay,” he murmurs in her ear. “We won't let anyone hurt you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut and breathes frantically through her nose, reaching up to dig her fingers into his forearm. Sam holds her tightly against him, the hand that isn't holding the gun held gently against her mouth. “It's okay,” he whispers. “It's okay.”

A few minutes pass like a lifetime, Lux shakes in Sam's arms as they wait in the bathroom, her quiet choking inhales the only sound in the small room. Eventually she hears a distant knock at the bedroom door, and a moment later Dean calls out, “All clear.”

Sam relaxes back against the wall in obvious relief and releases Lux before unlocking the door. When she rushes through it Dean is standing in the middle of the bedroom and Lux trips over her own feet to get to him. He catches her under her arms and pulls her against him, wrapping his arms firmly around her.

“Hey there, it's alright.” One of his hands strokes the back of her head. “Everything's fine. You have a visitor.”

She lifts her head to give him a baffled look. “What?”

Dean lets go over her and reaches down for her hand to lead her out of the bedroom, Sam trailing along behind them. In the living room Mariah Williams is standing by the coffee table examining the Chinese food. “Hey there baby girl,” she says cheerfully, picking up a cardboard container and a pair of chopsticks.

Lux blinks at her, surprised, following Dean to the couch to sit down. “What are you doing here?”

The witch gives her a sly smile, looking immensely pleased with herself as she hops up into a chair and starts to eat. “I found a witch who's willing to check you out.”

Sam sits down on the couch on Lux’s other side. “Really?”

Mariah nods, wiping her mouth with the edge of her hand. “She used to dabble in certain types of, well - the point is she thinks she can break the spell.”

Lux presses her hands against her temples, suddenly dizzy. “What?”

“She lives in Miami,” the witch explains, from where she's perched on the arm of a chair, digging into the container of chicken fried rice. “She's old school, and I mean _old_ school. Took me awhile to track her down.”

Lux stares at her from where she's sandwiched between Sam and Dean on the couch, Dean’s arm snug around her waist. “You think she can help me?”

Mariah gives her a benevolent smile. “It's worth a shot, baby girl. Unless you wanna spend the rest of your life like this.”

Sam glances at Dean over the top of Lux’s head. “She's right, it's better than nothing.”

Dean sighs, giving Mariah a hesitant look, like he doesn't want to trust her but he can't quite help himself. “You really think she can help?”

Mariah twirls a chopstick between her fingers. “Well, she seemed to think so. I took it upon myself to ask around until I got to her. You know all us sisters like to keep track of each other.” She throws Lux a wink. “Gotta keep an eye on the competition.”

“It's twelve hours to Miami,” Sam comments.

“Well you better get a good night's sleep then.” Mariah sets the container of Chinese food down on the coffee table. “You have an appointment with her tomorrow night.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at her. “For real?”

She gives him a brilliant smile. “I've got connections baby. You're welcome.”

Lux looks up at Dean. “We're going to Miami?”

Dean rubs the bridge of his nose and gives her a painful looking smile. “You ever been to Florida before?”

A brief sense memory washes over her: her father holding her by the shoulders as waves of cold ocean water crashed over her, the chill on her skin, her delighted shrieks every time the water splashed over her head, the firmness of her dad’s hands on her, keeping her from falling.

She shuts her eyes and tilts her head back against the couch. “I don't remember.”

/

Dean and Lux leave bright and early in the morning just as the sun is rising, leaving Sam back at the condo, waving goodbye from the doorway with sleepy eyes as he watches them get into the Impala. Lux clutches Dean’s hand the whole way down the sidewalk, her red sunglasses on, that golden hair piled in a loose knot on the top of her head to reveal a long, delicate looking neck. When Dean turns the engine on he cranks the AC and lets it run for a minute, watching as Lux stretches out, kicks off her purple flats and sticks her feet up on the dash.

“Just like old times, right?” His voice sounds too loud in his own ears, painfully cheerful, fooling no one.

Lux doesn't even respond, she just leans her cheek against the window and sighs. 

“Hey,” he says, quieter this time. “You gonna be like this the whole way? Cus let me tell you, twelve hours is a long time to sulk.”

“I'm not sulking,” she whines.

“You're full of shit.”

“Dean!” She looks affronted, her arms crossing over her chest. 

“I'm just calling it like I see it.”

“Because it's stupid!” Lux explodes. “I told you, no one’s ever been able to break it because it isn't possible and you're wasting your time driving me all the way down there” -

“Hey,” he says sharply. “You aren't a waste of time, don't talk like that. This is my job, remember? I make the decisions, and we're going to Miami.”

“Fine,” she mutters, like a sullen teenager. “Whatever, okay.”

“Okay.” He slides a pair of knockoff Ray Bans over his eyes and puts the car in drive. “Let's get some coffee.”

He stops at a gas station on the edge of town, gets the gas pumping and locks Lux in the car while he goes inside and stocks up: two cups of drip coffee, a few bottles of water, a box of donuts, protein bars, and a fresh fruit cup for Lux. When he brings his bounty back to the car she takes her coffee wordlessly, blowing on it before taking a sip. Dean watches her for a moment, the shape her lips make as she does it, like a kiss.

He peels out of the parking lot a little faster than necessary, driving with his left hand as he blindly opens the donut box with his right and grabs one. He catches Lux wrinkle her nose at him and he takes a large bite, flicking his tongue out to lick icing off his lips, just to spite her, because he's feeling childish and there's something strange about the energy between the two of them, tension that's been slowly developing over the last few days, ever since she found that police report. 

He finishes the donut in three huge bites and Lux makes a noise of disbelief, a single grape held between her fingertips.

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?” Dean grins, wiping his fingers off on a paper napkin.

“You shouldn't eat that,” she says softly. “It's bad for you.”

“Oh come on, are you kidding? What's more delicious than a donut for breakfast?”

“It'll make you fat,” she whispers.

He almost laughs out loud, and then he remembers Lux sitting across from him that first morning in a diner, the bones of her shoulders, her collarbone, the terrified expression on her face. He swallows something thick in the back of his throat, suddenly desperately thirsty and completely out of his depth.

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “You know guys - like out in the real world, regular guys. They like it when women look like…”

“Women?” she says caustically.

He picks his coffee up from the cup holder and takes a large sip. “I'm just saying, that's not really something you need to worry about anymore, okay? You don't - you don't have to eat a certain way or look a certain way.”

“You like how I look.” She says it in a low voice, accusatory.

He glances at those long thin legs glowing pale gold in the sunlight and remembers his first split second fantasy of her, his hands on her legs, pushing her thighs apart, and then he remembers holding Lux down on the mattress when he was under her curse, and he looks back at the highway, slouching down in his seat.

“Yeah,” he says under his breath, like a confession. “I do.”


End file.
